Building the Dream
by sohypothetically
Summary: Dr. Aurelius treats Peeta and brings him back to himself at the end of Mockingjay. How does that happen? What role does President Paylor have in making sure Peeta can become whole without Plutarch using him as a piece in a new game? Rated T due to descriptions of Peeta's treatment by the Capitol post Quarter Quell.
1. The Key

(A/N: Begins a month or so after Coin's assassination, after the Mockingjay's trial conclusion and after Chapter 9 of _Moving On._)

Chapter 1

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

"How is our patient?" Brinna Paylor says, gesturing toward Peeta's studio. She looks tired.

"You know I can't tell you that." I have just walked into the hallway. I am frantically trying to pinch my headache away by gripping the bridge of my noise as hard as I can. The approach does not seem to be working. I am in way over my head with this case_. I am in over my head with _all_ of my cases._

"Judging from the way you are pinching your nose, I'd guess not that well?" She ignores my pointed glare. "Come on, Doctor. I'm not asking you to give up district secrets or anything."

I sigh, "Fine. He's fine. He's coming along fine." _Peeta just explained to me that he believes he sometimes wishes he was dead. That is as far as a person can get from fine. _I begin walking briskly toward the exit. Against my hopes, the President of Panem falls in step next to me.

"Doctor, we both know that that the district rebellion has kept your patient schedule pretty full: first Peeta, now Katniss and Effie are patients. I have a vested interest in making sure that all three of them make progress toward recovery."

I stop at the exit and stare at the door and freedom beyond it. _I wish I were anywhere but here._ The minute the thought forms, I push it away, knowing that it is just a manifestation of the powerlessness I feel. I am powerless to help my patients. _Try a different tactic. You know there is an answer for each of them out there somewhere. Work harder. Find it._

I am not willing to share my perceived incompetence with anyone, let alone the President of Panem, so  
I turn and say quietly, "I would like to thank the President for the honor of serving Panem by helping these people. I assure you that I also have an interest in their return to productive citizenship." If I were a different man, I would storm out the door.

Paylor puts her hand on my arm as if she can read my mind. I stare at her hand incredulously: I do not like to be touched. Paylor does not seem to notice. "Doctor, I am not insinuating that you are not doing your job. I am offering to help. If you are interested in what I have to say, come back to my office at five and we can discuss it further." She realizes she is still touching me and removes her hand from my sleeve. I push out the door into bright sunlight, shaking off the lingering feeling of her hand.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I lean my head back against my chair, savoring the quiet of the office. I am still largely unused to the quiet here in the Capitol after the sounds of rebellion and whirring of sewing machines and looms before that in my district. Quiet is something I associate with the school where I used to teach: the quiet desperation of test time for children too tired to study. I used to wonder what I would do if I could have total quiet to think. I chuckle a little at the fact that now it's almost too quiet for me to bear - like District 13. The quiet there was stifling and people moved with quiet purpose. On one level, I appreciated the organization and commitment it took to run such a district. On another level, I wanted to scream in frustration. The people there didn't even seem human! Then the Mockingjay arrived with her demands and her cat and her spontaneity. And eventually, her Peeta.

I chuckle again. _Didn't she change us all? Peeta is right: sometimes Katniss gives you a life you never would have chosen for yourself. _

I think of Marus Aurelius and his quiet control. How many times between 13 and now have I wanted to shake him? To see him do something out of character and spontaneous? I think that Plutarch's suggestion for Peeta to paint my portrait, or mine to have Peeta bake at the mansion would have rattled his composure but he just closed his eyes briefly, took a deeper than normal breath and adjusted his glasses in his coat pocket.

And today I touched him. I know that he doesn't like to be touched. Being around someone in the underground space that is District 13, you learn a lot about them physically. He didn't eat at a table with the other doctors. He did not even touch his patients in any way, including Peeta. I thought that was odd. _Didn't doctors have to touch patients to examine them? _His tweed coat had been softer than I imagined it would be under my hand – less like the armor of my imagination and more like a comfortable blanket.

I shake my head: I am messing with his patients and their treatment, forcing Marus to have conversations with me, and now physically accosting him. I know that's not a good trajectory for behavior because I've seen it in the children I used to teach: pretty soon I will be using every weapon in my arsenal to get under his skin. _I don't have time for this. I have a country to run._

I swivel back to reports of infrastructure damage, crop projections and injury reports from every district with the grim determination I formerly applied to grading bad papers.

Sometime later, I hear the door open. My assistant ushers in Doctor Aurelius, who looks uncomfortable. I ask the assistant for tea and gesture for him to sit. I let the quiet spin out between us, composing myself into what I think of as my "schoolmaster" persona. It's the persona I use when I want to appear capable and competent and in control.

"Doctor, thank you for meeting with me this afternoon." I say briskly. "I know we haven't exactly gotten off on the right foot. I was hoping that you would see getting together today as something of a peace offering."

"I am interested in whatever you have to say, President Paylor." His back is ramrod straight. We stare down our noses at each other and the quiet spins out again. Finally, we are interrupted by the arrival of the tea tray and I take the opportunity to move to a comfortable chair next to a low table: making him my enemy going to help neither me nor his patients. I serve him tea and cookies in silence while I think of how to broach the subject of his patients without making him defensive.

"Thank you for clearing Peeta to paint and bake again." I hold up a cookie. "These are so much better than what we were getting before." Dr. Aurelius holds his gaze on the cookie for so long that I lower it and think that, a year ago, I could have counted on one hand the number of times I had eaten a cookie. I drop my eyes to my plate self-consciously.

"It made sense to see how well he could cope with being in a normal environment. And Plutarch was most persuasive." His eyes narrow slightly and he takes a tentative bite of cookie. _Does he not like Plutarch or sweets or both?"_ "I understand he's staying here now as well?"

"Yes. At least, he seems to come into the mansion at all hours of the day and night, so I thought it would be more practical for him to sleep here too. I didn't want him wandering around the Capitol in the middle of the night, risking an attack. I hope that is alright?" Dr. Aurelius nods. "Of course, Peeta is your patient and you should have access to him whenever you feel it appropriate." I hope the doctor takes that as an olive branch. I'm not sure I like the idea of him skulking around the mansion at odd hours. If it means that I can find out more about how Katniss, Peeta and Effie are doing, and maybe help them in some way, I will risk it. I sip my tea and nibble a cookie, hoping he takes the hint and realizes it is his turn to talk.

"You've taken quite an interest in Peeta." I believe that I hear censure in his tone. _He cannot possibly believe that I would…Peeta is almost young enough to be my son!_

"All of Panem owes him a debt. As does District 13. How many lives do you think he saved during that bombing attack?" My control slips a bit and I fire back at him. If not for Katniss and Peeta, this new government would not exist. Peeta himself warned 13 of the incoming Capitol bombs so 13 had enough time evacuate to lower floors.

Dr. Aurelius places his cup and saucer on the table and I can tell I have gone too far. I start over. "I'm sorry. They're children – he and Katniss both. They are good children. I doubt they even knew what being involved in a rebellion would mean in terms of how it would affect them. If they had, perhaps they might have made different choices. Look, how much do you know about what Peeta has been through?"

"You mean…" he motions generally in the air.

"No. I don't mean the star-crossed lovers pitch that Haymitch sold to all of us. I mean the tracker jacker venom hijacking. If you had more specifics about it, do you think it would help you in treating him?"

"Of course. The specific dosages, any sort of clinical notes or records could prove invaluable to a determinative treatment plan."

I pull a long chain from under my shirt and pull it over my head. Suspended on it is a key. I slide the chain and the key across the table. "I think you may find what is behind that key to be of interest. I'm hopeful that it will be helpful in treating all of your patients. I simply ask that you keep the records in their current location and not move or duplicate them unless we discuss it. Agreed?" Dr. Aurelius stares blankly at the key and gingerly picks it up.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I pick up the key. _It is still warm from her body. _The next thing I feel is a surge of elation that I might finally have a lead to a treatment break-through for Peeta. _No one needs to know that I am in over my head. _I have not told anyone how afraid I that Peeta and Katniss and Effie are in a race to see who ends their life most quickly. That fear is beginning to stick with me through the night and turns my dreams to nightmares. Between the nightmares and the infernal noise and lights of the Capitol, I am awake most of the night, every night. I wonder if I will ever get a full night's sleep again.

I grip the key harder, as if it is a lifeline. Perhaps, for my patients, it is. I wonder what sort of contingencies the President is attaching to granting me access when I realize that President Paylor is expecting an answer from me. _What was the question? Something to do with keeping the files intact. _"Of course I will discuss anything of the sort. What were you expecting in exchange for this information?" Paylor's guilty look down is barely discernible. I stare at her unwaveringly.

"I'd like to know how he's progressing." She anticipates my negative reaction with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Nothing specific. Just something more than 'fine' will do." She smiles at me tentatively. Her face is different when she smiles – softer and more feminine. Her eyes crinkle at the edge slightly. I find myself wanting to smile back, which is absurd.

I voice my objection. "You know I cannot divulge specifics about a patient."

"Doctor, you were the Head doctor in District 13, Correct? And you have years of experience in your field?" I nod. "Then I will follow your well-respected lead on what you can and cannot share with regard to your patients. I only ask that you view me as a silent collaborator in their treatment." Paylor explains that there is a facility several levels under the Training Center. The key will unlock a particular records room within that Facility. When I want to head there for the first time, she says she will accompany me. I cannot tell if she is curious about what I will find or just interested in making sure I do not copy or remove anything. Something tells me that her interest is the former.

I am still nodding at her, although I have no idea what she means by that. _I work alone._

Later, as I am leaving her office, I reiterate that to myself. _Although it has not been working so well recently. Maybe it is time to try a different tactic. _I put the key around my own neck for safekeeping.


	2. Training Center

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I am underneath the Training Center researching Peeta's condition and looking for a more positive treatment plan. The folders spread around me on the desk are labeled: _Peeta Mellark, Cinna, Effie Trinket, Darius, Portia and Johanna Mason. _It does not escape me that fifty percent of the folders describe people who are now dead. There is enough data in these files to keep me busy for the rest of the year but Peeta Mellark and his tracker jacker venom torture are my primary concern.

_There must be something in these files that I can use to help Peeta recover. This documentation must lead to something more effective than asking him about his feelings or waiting for him to have an attack. _I feel powerless because I still cannot predict what will trigger an attack for Peeta. The obvious trigger is Katniss, but not everything about her works as a trigger. Seemingly random things have also triggered attacks: Gale Hawthorne, a watch, squirrels, even a pearl necklace. _There is a pattern that I must be missing. _

I load another video and watch as a red-haired man named Darius is tortured. His files tell me that he was an Avox from District 12 – a former peacekeeper. I recall Peeta asking me if I have ever heard an Avox scream. After watching this video, I will never forget it. I can only imagine how Peeta felt, hearing these screams hour after hour and being unable to stop them: at least I have the choice to stop the video.

I pinch the bridge of my nose underneath my glasses. Perhaps it is time to call it a night. I think, _One more video. I must not leave here without something new._ I carefully check Peeta's file again, skimming the notes that tell me dosages of various medications. I reach a date, time and video log entry that look promising and load it for viewing. A man in a white jacket is visible. He is talking to the camera about the purpose of the session: they are loading Peeta with a truth serum to interrogate him. The doctor patiently explains that they will then use those memories that are strongest as a marker for the tracker jacker venom.

I watch as they bring Peeta into the room. The difference between this Peeta and the patient I see daily is devastating: he is thin and bruised almost everywhere but his face. I recall that this must be before he was televised, so they must want to keep him camera-ready. He is screaming and struggling. His eyes are bright with intelligence and fight - so very different from the Peeta I first met in 13. I feel my own stomach begin to tighten and push the feeling aside in order to focus on what I can glean for his treatment.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

"What, exactly, do you think you are doing?" I lean against the wall of the Training Center, watching Dr. Aurelius stab a target dummy with a sword. When he stops and looks at me, I push away from the wall and walk toward him. "It's the middle of the night."

I do not add that guards had reported him as a disturbance in the Training Center.

He tries to catch his breath, leaning a little on the sword. "I just finished downstairs." He grimaces. "I needed to burn off some extra energy. No one uses this place now, correct?"

"No. It hasn't been used since training for the Quarter Quell." I watch Doctor Aurelius look around him, obviously assessing his surroundings. I wonder what he is looking for, _Waiting for tributes to jump out and attack? _While he is looking around, I take another look at him: He's not wearing his jacket and his shirt is speckled with sweat. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal surprisingly strong and sinewy arms and his hair is sweat-spiked as if he has been here for some time. He is out of breath. It's a totally new look for the Doctor.

He swings his eyes to mine and catches me looking him over. I color slightly, silently cursing and scowl at him. His eyes crinkle slightly at the edges. _Is he smiling at me? His lips haven't really moved… _I scowl harder and realize that we are having an unspoken conversation and he is getting the better of me.

I motion to the decimated object of his frustration. "I see that you have obviously beaten the dummy into submission. Perhaps your day was as bad as mine?" He scowls at me. I walk over to the collection of swords, take off my jacket and pick a smaller sword from the wall.

Surprisingly, he answers my question. "Making headway by reviewing the material will take time. " He pauses and admits, "Watching Peeta's treatment during incarceration is more difficult than I thought it would be."

He backs away unconsciously as I approach the dummy. With as much force as I can muster, I swing the sword over my head and hack at the dummy. The sound it makes when the sword makes contact is satisfying. "More difficult in what way?" I pause to roll up my sleeves before taking another slashing hack at the dummy.

Dr. Aurelius joins in the fray. His stance is more studied, with his knees bent deeply. He looks well balanced and his sword arm holds the sword easily, much to my surprise. He thrusts and jabs in contrast to my less choreographed hacks and slashes. We take turns obliterating our imagined opponent for a few minutes.

When we both pause for breath, Dr. Aurelius says, "I am surprised he survived what they did to him." I raise my eyebrow in question. "The dosages and the intensity of some of the medications… the physical and mental stress was tremendous." He shakes his head like he is trying to shake off a nightmare or a vision. I notice the light catches on droplets of sweat running down his neck and find myself staring at the opening of his shirt. _I must be delusional from lack of sleep: This is Dr. Aurelius! The man is made of stone. _That must be why I am staring – I so rarely see a human side to the doctor that my interest is just surprise.

"How does your day compare to watching a patient's torture?" Dr. Aurelius's blue-green eyes catch mine.

I laugh disparagingly. "Well, our new government is having some challenges. I may have to deploy rebel forces to a few districts where there is still unrest." It's my turn to shake my head. "Our districts had limited resources before the rebellion. Now they are trying to rebuild and need help - they need each other. They don't have the resources to each rebuild on their own and they expect the Capitol to work out some way to help all of them at the same time. Their frustration with the Capitol, even under the new government, is causing some districts to arm themselves and threaten to fight. That could lead to more damage, more need for resources…" I make a circular motion with my free hand and let my voice trail off.

"Yes. Well, that is a bad day." Dr. Aurelius is still watching me closely. The silence spins out around us as we put our weapons away in unspoken agreement. We both reassemble our clothing.

I break the silence. "What if…What if I am in over my head? What if I can't straighten out the situation and make the districts see reason?" I am not sure if it is the lateness of the hour, the pleasant sense of physical tiredness because of the exertion or because of the intimacy of his confession, but I give voice to my worst fear. _What if I fail?_

Dr. Aurelius pats his jacket pocket, presumably checking for his glasses. He holds the door to the Training Center open for me, making sure it closes behind us. As it does, he leans closer and says, "We will get through our challenges, both of us. We must."

Just hearing him use the word "we" makes me feel less lonesome and gives me hope.


	3. A Confession

**I do not own the Hunger Games.**

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I am back underneath the Training Center, hoping to learn more from Peeta's file. I have watched his videos again and again and now understand why some things trigger attacks: pearls and watches remind him of the arena. I still am no closer to predicting triggers than I was before starting this research and this frustrates me. I have gone through everything I know about drug formulas and have formulated a plan to launch a counterattack on previously targeted parts of his brain. I can do this using the same map that his previous doctor transcribed from his strongest memories. I am, however, uncertain that it will not wipe out all of his memories entirely.

_Is it better to have some memories and be haunted or be a clean slate to build on anew? What would Peeta choose? _After watching his videos and treating him for months, I know he would choose flawed memories of Katniss over the risk of losing them forever. He goes through pain every day just to have that piece of her. _What must it be like to love someone so deeply?_

My thoughts drift to of President Paylor. We have been meeting in the Training Center late each night to take out our frustrations on the day. Although it is not something we've planned, it is a routine that I have come to rely on and enjoy. I have not had someone to share my day with in a very long time. I've seen her looking at me when we are together. _What is she thinking when she looks at me? What does she see?_

_How long has it been since a woman held my interest?_ Alma Coin did not like her head doctor to have what she called "messy involvements" that took away focus from research. Everything in 13 reflected that commitment to orderliness – everything was neat and tidy and without over-emotionalism. It worked well from a research standpoint but it hindered my work with patients because I had a difficult time relating to people. Luckily, the work in 13 was mostly research. Alma Coin didn't believe in wasting resources on people who could not contribute to her society. I never asked what fate befell those she deemed unfit: curiosity is not always a virtue.

As a result, Peeta and Katniss are my first long-term patients.

I tap my fountain pen against the blotter on the desk, thinking of the president's skin covered with the sheen of sweat, or the furrow of her brow when she concentrates on hitting a target. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine skimming my hands along her cheekbones and down her neck, tracing the scar located there, savoring the feel of her soft, slick skin and feeling the flutter of her pulse beneath my hands. _Would her eyes be shut while I touched her, or would they remain open, gazing into mine and showing every nuance of expression?_

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I stop short in the door way of the office, transfixed by video playing without sound. It is Peeta straining at his bindings, face red, arms bruised in a rainbow of colors. He is screaming something at a screen which plays the cave scene where he and Katniss in his first Hunger Game. It is too painful to watch so I avert my eyes to spy Dr. Aurelius. He is deep in thought and has his eyes shut. I momentarily debate leaving before he notices me. I decide it is worth standing my ground and risking his ire when I think back on the day.

He still hasn't noticed my presence, so I knock. His reaction is as comical as if he had fallen out of his chair – his eyes snap open, narrow almost immediately, his brows furrow deeply. I can feel my mouth twitch upward in response to his obvious discomfort. _I wonder what he was thinking? He will just have to derive the quadratic equation later._

"I thought I would see you later this evening." Something about the way he says it, quietly and sincerely, with a hint of pleasure sends tingling up my spine despite his irked expression.

I push that sensation aside and clear my throat before beginning, "Something happened that I think you should hear from me: it's about Peeta." His expression morphs from irked to alarmed, and he motions for me to sit down. I look back at the video screen where Peeta's restrained body now lies limp, his eyes rolled back in their eye sockets. "Could we…would you mind if we went back to the mansion?" He follows my eyes and immediately clicks the video off. I give him time to tidy up the desk, put on his jacket _(I bet he checks the pocket!), _and shut off the lamp.

We walk back to the mansion, Dr. Aurelius walking quietly and efficiently beside me. I take a few cleansing breaths of Capitol air, trying to purge my lungs of the bleakness nestled in my chest. I finally explain that Plutarch suggested Peeta show his paintings and that Peeta had not seemed very receptive to the idea. The only thing that had seemed to excite Peeta was the mention that some of Peeta's earlier paintings are in the Capitol. Peeta had asked if he could see them and I hadn't thought it would cause any harm. I re-emphasize that point to Dr. Aurelius. When the doctor still says nothing, I stop walking so that he faces me.

I reach out and put my hand on his arm, not even realizing that I am touching him. "I truly hadn't anticipated any sort of reaction. It was foolish of me not to think through all of the ramifications…"I trail off as Dr. Aurelius puts his hand over mine. The electricity zings between his hand and mine as his thumb grazes my knuckles.

"Let's get inside the mansion. You can finish telling me about it and then we can decide what to do next." His voice is so low and patient.

I throw back my head and laugh bitterly. "Oh, I know what I am doing next: I am going to get drunk." I take his hand and half-lead-half-drag him into the mansion and the library. I make my way to an assortment of crystal decanters, pour myself a glass of something that is a pretty pink color, and drink it in one gulp. It burns like fire down my throat. _Like fire; like the Girl on Fire looking down at Peeta and the careers from a tree, captured forever in a painting across from President Snow's bed. _

I've never been drunk. There was neither time nor opportunity in my district, 13 had no alcohol, and the Capitol has kept me busy enough that drinking has not appealed to me. Right now, though, I need the anesthetizing effect to keep me from throwing things or going to see Peeta in order to beg his forgiveness. _How could I have been so thoughtless?_ I pour myself another drink.

Dr. Aurelius takes the decanter from my grasp and motions for me to sit. Once we are both settled, he asks, "What happened?"

"I took Peeta to see his other paintings in Snow's private apartments. He was fine – relatively speaking – until I offered to show him the last one. It is a picture of Katniss and it's hanging in Snow's bedroom." I take another large sip of my drink, "I am not sure if he had an attack or what happened, but the look on his face before he ran out of the room…let's just say that it will haunt me until my dying breath." I drink again, draining the glass.

"Did he say anything?"

I shake my head, "No. His eyes got this wide and wild look and he appeared to have stopped breathing. Then he just bolted out of the room at a flat out run. I haven't gone to check on him. Should I? Should I send someone?"

"Are the cameras in his room accessible from here?"

I nod. "I don't normally use them…"

He interrupts, "I know. It's the best way to determine if he is having an attack or a danger to himself." I sit mutely while Dr. Aurelius walks to a piece of art depicting men on horseback who are hunting a deer. Pulling the artwork aside to display a screen, he hits a series of buttons and we see a black and white video feed of Peeta's room. It is empty. He moves to another camera view and we can just see Peeta's feet on the floor of the bathroom. I swear I can feel my heart swell, _Is he alright? Please. Please be alright._ Dr. Aurelius zooms in and we see that Peeta is curled up on the floor of the bathroom. He is obviously breathing. I breathe a sigh of relief that comes from the depths of my very soul and plunk my head down on the desk.

Surprisingly, Dr. Aurelius refills my glass and pours himself one. In a truly poor showing of manners, I do not thank him. Instead, I say, "Peeta was so good today. He singlehandedly negated the need for troops in District 7. What have I done?" I look up at Dr. Aurelius blue-green eyes, which seem to be staring at me as he takes a small sip of his drink.

"Tell me what happened from the beginning."

So I do: I talk about Tryna and Ric, both from districts struggling to rebuild. "Peeta saw that they each have resources the other needs. He accomplished in a few hours what the council did not in days of negotiations. I won't have to send troops to Tryna's district, which had been acting insurgent. I offered him a career in politics." I laugh as a recall his horrified expression. "He gracefully declined. So I told him about Plutarch and the exhibit idea, then the paintings that Plutarch recovered. We went to Snow's apartment where he seemed a little stunned by some of the paintings, but nothing like this." I motion to the wall. "If I had thought…" I stare at Dr. Aurelius beseechingly.

His lips purse, "We will keep an eye on him tonight and make sure that he is out of harm's way. Have you eaten?" He motions to my drink, "At this rate of alcohol intake, you should eat something unless you want to be sick."


	4. Introductions

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**Marcus Aurelius's POV**

Sometime later, the President is lying on the floor of the library with her shoes off, her shirt un-tucked, and her eyes closed. She is laughing and mumbling, "You're the head, head-doctor" over and over, like it's the funniest thing she has ever heard. Her laugh is so melodic and unexpected, and her face is so lit up with laughter that I can't help but laugh with her. The remains of our dinner sit on the desk and I have given up all pretense of taking sips of my drink. I hope she is oblivious to the fact that only one of us is inebriated.

I tell myself that I am here because of professional interest in Peeta: there is some of that, for sure. If I am honest with myself, I am also intrigued at the president who grabbed my hand and would not let go on the way to the mansion, or who is haunted by Peeta's reaction to the painting of interrupts my reverie, "What do you like best about the Capitol?" She slurs.

I answer without thinking, "The food."

She chortles. "I know. The stuff Peeta bakes is amazing. I'm sure I'll get fat if I'm not careful. Good thing I have our late-night workouts." She pats her stomach and then chortles harder. I understand her reference, but immediately and guiltily think back on my fantasy from this afternoon. _If she even suspected…_"What's your favorite?"

It takes me a few seconds to realize that she is asking about food again. "All of it. The food in 13 was always very…utilitarian. We did not care so much about taste as nutrition."

She gives an exaggerated shudder that makes me laugh. "Utilitarian is right: that fish stew still gives me nightmares." She rolls onto her stomach and squints her eyes. "You don't like sweets?"

"What?" It is with some difficulty that I avoid looking down her shirt. She makes it more difficult because she seems to want eye contact. _Don't look down, don't look down…_

"Sweets: cookies and cakes and strawberries dipped in chocolate and oranges and blueberries and honey in warm milk with spices" she sighs longingly, "You haven't eaten them since we came to the Capitol."

"I love them." I confess. They are a secret vice discovered upon my advent to the Capitol. There is not much harm in telling her about my secret love of sweets, since I doubt she will remember what we discuss tonight. I try not to eat them because I have a fear that I will not be able to stop myself – in much the same way that I cannot help but sneak peeks at the smooth skin revealed by Paylor's position. Luckily, she resumes her position on her back.

You know what I loved about the Games?" I cannot imagine Paylor liking anything about the Games.

"No, what did you love about the Games?" I smile, glad the president who confesses her likes and dislikes and rolls around on the floor like a young girl cannot see my expression.

"The horses. You know, the horses pulling the chariots during the tribute parade? They were so beautiful and majestic. We didn't have any animals in 8, not really. I always wanted to see them if I made it to the Capitol. I haven't even had a chance to make that happen." She sighs unhappily, pouting slightly.

I laugh. It's a ridiculous mental picture, Paylor in her ugly blue suit, petting a horse.

"What about you? What did you like about the Games?"

I think for a minute. The Games were not mandatory viewing except for the soldiers and children of 13: Alma Coin wanted to make sure those groups had a healthy hatred for the Capitol. The rest of the workers, like me, weren't required to watch it. Alma frowned on intense emotion, so it was better if we just concentrated on our own roles within the community. I think back to the brief times I watched the Games, back when I was training as a soldier and my aptitude for science had not yet been discovered. It was at least ten or fifteen years ago.

"I enjoyed watching the crowds and the variety of people. They were so different than anything in 13." I finally answer.

"Would you go back to 13 if you could? Back to before the rebellion and do things differently?" I think about my answer: about the loneliness in 13, the bad food, the controlling presence of Alma Coin. The schedules and giving affection only to lab mice because those were the only pets allowed and even they were killed in the name of science. Of course, I didn't know enough to dislike those things outright before the rebellion. I had not known enough to want more. I realize that being around the new president makes me want more.

"No. I am doing good work here. This is exactly where I am supposed to be. I can make a difference if I am smart enough." I say gruffly. I hope she is too drunk to realize that I mean right here in this room with her.

Her breathing becomes more even and I think she is asleep when I hear her say quietly, "Peeta has so much potential." It is a statement more than a question.

"Yes." Even damaged, the boy who is still lying on the bathroom floor has enough compassion to help two districts find solutions to their problems. I think back to his memory of giving Katniss bread when they were younger. _He truly is the boy with the bread for us all._

"Can you imagine…what he was… before?" I am not sure if she means _before the Games_ or _before his abduction_. She might even mean _before Katniss_. I myself have put some thought into all three as I try to piece together the jagged pieces of Peeta that are left. The parts that are damaged or missing give me indications of the person he was formerly.

"Yes. I am sure he was magnificent." I have not put that thought into words before tonight. _That is another first for the doctor._

Paylor sighs and half-mumbles, "Everyone should have a love like that." Despite barely hearing them, I feel the jolt of those words through my entire body, so closely do they echo my sentiment from earlier today_._ Paylor is oblivious to the resonance I feel to her words and keeps slurring, "I'm sorry I gave you that key. I thought it would help. Some doors ought to remain locked. Some things can't be undone."

"I don't know how to reach him, sometimes." I find myself sharing even more of my own private doubts.

She makes a noise that sounds like agreement or understanding or perhaps is a snore. Her breathing becomes more even and I realize she is actually asleep. I gather our glasses together and put them with our dinner things. I wonder if I should wake her and escort her to her room, then I realize that the entire point of the night was for her to stand vigil over Peeta. She needs to feel like she had paid back the debt that she owed him for showing him that painting and setting back his recovery.

I look back at the video screen. Peeta is up and talking to someone on the telephone. He appears lucid and thankfully unscathed from the day. _I should wake her._ I think this, but know I won't. I've enjoyed the intimacy of the night too much to for it to end abruptly with a shoulder shake and a goodbye.

I manage to scoop Paylor into my arms so I can put her on the couch and make her more comfortable. Just as I am ready to put her on the couch, she turns her head into my shoulder and nuzzles comfortably into my neck. I freeze with her lips resting against the skin of my throat. I close my eyes and count to ten, feeling the feverish heat of my skin, wondering if she can feel it as well.

I place her gently on the couch, loathe to break the contact but unable to conjure an excuse to hold her all night. _Imagine her face in the morning!_ I chuckle quietly. I cover her with a throw. Unable to resist one more touch, I smooth her hair back from her forehead and trace down her jaw. I lean close to her cheek and whisper, "Goodnight, President Paylor."

She turns her head into my hand and mumbles, "Brinna." Our faces are so very close that I can feel her breath on my lips.

I smile at her, though she cannot see it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Brinna. I'm Marus."

Brinna Palor's POV

I awaken on the coach with nothing but the video of Peeta's empty room to keep me company. _Peeta's room is empty. That must be a positive sign, right? _I hope the absence of both Peeta and Dr. Aurelius does not indicate something negative. Sitting up takes tremendous effort, but showering clears my thoughts and brings me back to some degree of normalcy.

Despite feeling somewhat more human than when I had awakened, my head is throbbing. It feels as if someone is trying to rebuild a Capitol city block behind my eyelids and my stomach is staging a small rebellion of its own. The recently arrived tea tray does nothing to quell the nausea. Frankly, I feel like death. I put my head down on the cool surface of the desk, silently thankful for the quiet in the room.

I hear the door open but do not expend the energy required to lift my head. "This had better be urgent." I have growl, half whine. I see of two pills move into my field of vision, placed gently on the desk. I hear something being poured into a glass and it is also gently placed on the desk. _Headache pills, _I think. "I can't take those…I'm dying." I groan.

"Please don't do that: I am not that kind of doctor._" _I hear his quiet, wry laughter. _Did Dr. Aurelius just make a joke?_

I gingerly sit upright to meet his eyes and he gently slides the glass closer to me. The noise echoes in my head like a train pulling into a station. I wince.

"Take the pills; your head feel better afterward." I dutifully take the pills and drink some water. "I came by to check on you and let you know that Peeta seems to be recovered." He is smiling at me.

_Smiling? Joking? Where is Dr. Aurelius and what have you done to him? _I quip to myself. He looks remarkably well rested. As I think about it, I notice that he looks remarkably unaffected by the effects of alcohol. _Oh no. Did I make a spectacle of myself? What if Dr. Aurelius watched me make a total fool of myself last night? _

I only remember bits and pieces of the evening. I remember throwing back drinks as I explained what had transpired. I remember ordering a dinner tray and the two of us eating. Events after that get fairly hazy. I seem to recall lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling for an indeterminate length of time. I also have the incongruous recollection of being wrapped in warmth and skin to skin contact. I hope that last image is a dream because Dr. Aurelius is the last person I want to offend with unrequited drunken skin to skin contact. I groan mentally at the possibility.

I clear my throat, "I apologize again for what happened yesterday and for last night. I hope I did not do anything inappropriate." I am not sure that my stomach could handle confirmation that I launched myself at the doctor.

He turns slightly away from me. "There is no need to apologize. You were the embodiment of presidential decorum." I wish I could believe him, but he is still smiling that private little smile and is studiously avoiding meeting my eyes. I am getting ready to push the issue and ask what actually happened last night when he looks at his watch. "I must be getting to my first appointment. You are obviously recovering nicely. Will I see you later in the Training Center?" His blue-green eyes finally meet mine guilelessly.

My eyes narrow slightly because I know there is something he is not telling me. I vow that I am going to get to the truth of what happened last night, even if part of me is no sure I want to know. A snippet of memory comes back to me…_some doors are meant to stay locked…_A name pops into my head and I know how to throw him off balance.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it…Marus."

He walks out the door and I know the name registers when the smile flickers slightly, and then disappears.


	5. A New Game Begins

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

Several hours later, I take another dose of headache pills to combat the war that is still raging behind my eyelids. I am not sure if it is due to the alcohol or if it is due to the depressing reports on district supply shortages, delayed rebuilding efforts, and threatened violence in 2 and 13 that are the culprits. Either way, my day is nowhere near over and my head is throbbing so loudly that it sounds like an industrial sewing machine stuck on a tight stitch.

I close my eyes and count to ten, then twenty, willing the medicine to take effect. When I open my eyes, Plutarch is leaning against my doorway.

"Hello, Plutarch." I attempt to regain my composure.

"Good morning, President Paylor. You look terrible, if I may say so. Rough night?" Plutarch crosses the room and sits down, a sympathetic look on his face.

I do not need his sympathy. "You could say that. What can I do for you?" I don't mean to sound brusque, but between my head and the possibility that he could be bringing more bad news… I cannot bring myself to be anything but direct.

"You're in trouble. Have you seen the reports from the districts? 2 and 13 are a real risk right now. They are upset at the lack of support they are getting from the new government. District 13 could close itself back off at any moment and drop out of the alliance."

"I have seen the reports, thank you. What do you suggest?" I hope I sound authoritative and not desperate because I could really use some ideas.

"We need something to capture the interest of the country. Something as a distraction that also sends a message to the districts of bravery and hope. We need another Games."

My mouth gapes open. "No. NO. Plutarch, we agreed…"

"I know what we agreed. Face it, Brinna, the government needs it. _The country needs it. _Think of the pageantry as the tributes are presented in their horse drawn chariots. That was your favorite part of the Games, right? Imagine them standing with you, standing up for their country. ready to sacrifice themselves for their country."

I close my eyes because I can see it and I never want to see it again. "No. Everyone has agreed: no more Games."

"The vote actually was _yes_ for a new Games. The Mockingjay and Haymitch were the deciding votes, remember?" When I look at Plutarch's eyes, they are colder than I remember them ever being.

I stare him down the way only a teacher used to dealing with angry parents can. His eyes drop from mine.

"Ok, well… think about it. I just don't want anything to happen to you. You still have a long presidency ahead of you." He reaches over to pat my hand, all warmth and friendliness. "I've got to run: the schedule of the Secretary of Communications is busy, busy!"

After he leaves, I stare out my window at the Capitol, picturing a future where there is a new Hunger Games.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

_I can't believe she remembered my name. What else does she remember from last night? _ I scour my memory for anything completely inappropriate: short of getting her drunk in the first place. Other than carrying her to the couch, nothing comes to mind. I just have to hope that she is too embarrassed or was too drunk , to worry about my behavior. I take a deep breath and let it out, thinking, _It was worth the risk._ Never mind the fact that she is the president and literally has the power of life and death over me; her skin was warm and vibrant, her breath whispered against my lips. The memory of our lips almost touching had stayed with me all through the night.

By the time I enter the area below the Training Center later in the morning, I am more than willing to lose myself in work. I am frustrated by Peeta. I have broached the subject of treating his hijacking with an anti-serum – not the morphling we tried in District 13, but a cocktail of my own devising. Upon hearing that there is a grave risk of total memory loss, Peeta has adamantly refused the treatment. I suspected that he would react this way. What is totally unexpected is my reaction to his decision to decline treatment.

It comes down to this: I want to treat Peeta with science. Science is drug therapy; it is neuroscience and reactions from nerve endings and tracking reactions and dosages. It is not endlessly talking to patients who tell me how they feel but never have any solutions to their behavioral issues because they are not actually doing anything to solve the problem. I am abysmal at therapy. I do not know how to fix him with therapy. I cannot continue to delude either of us that I can proficiently guide him through recovery with only words. I sigh deeply and put another video into the player: there must be some compromise that involves both science and psychology.

A doctor in a white lab coat is visible in the frame of the video. He seems to be setting the stage for whatever new treatment has occurred.

"We have previously identified the patient's most pleasant memories involving the target. We have since targeted those memories with an injection to transition from that positive emotion to a fear reaction. Once we confirm the fear reaction occurs consistently, we will take the next step in treatment, which is an injection to induce the association of hatred with the target. We had originally anticipated wiping the patient's memory completely clean in order to layer false memories on top of it. We found that, during trials, hatred is actually made up of a complex matrix of insecurity, fear, and hate. Combining those three emotions is much more likely to produce an unpredictable and violent reaction to the target. False memories alone were much less likely to produce the desired results because they lacked the associations with all three levels of emotion. Because of that lack, the test individuals were able to surmount the false memories and negate the violent hate reaction toward the designated target."

The camera pans widely and I see an unrestrained Peeta watching a video of Katniss during their victory tour. It is not a scene where there seems to be great emotion: just her waving to the crowd in one of the districts. Peeta looks thinner, more exhausted. His arms are a rainbow of colored bruises. His face, however, is still untouched. This particular video is unique in that he is unrestrained. He is also cowering in a far corner of the room, covering his face and sobbing uncontrollably.

I think I can hear him begging for someone to shut off the video he is watching as the doctor continues to speak over his pleas, "We were immensely fortunate with this patient as he had a natural insecurity with regard to the target. We were able to escalate that rather easily and are ahead of schedule with the fear phase of his treatment. As you can see, our efforts to successfully introduce fear of the target into our patient have been successful. We will continue to test for this reaction today to make sure it occurs during all of his strong memory recollections and also some of his neutral ones. We anticipate that testing will take 2 days to complete."

Peeta's sobbing and begging get louder. The camera pans back to him and hones in on his face, which is red and swollen from crying. His nose is running freely and he makes no move to wipe it. All efforts are concentrated on trying to block his eyes and ears from whatever is occurring on the screen in the room.

I fast forward as I scan for continued doctor input. At the timestamp that tells me four hours have elapsed, I see Peeta in a fetal position, rocking back and forth. At the six hour mark, he has stopped crying and has turned to curl up facing the wall. At the 9 hour mark, I think I see him sucking his thumb.

I abruptly shut the video off, pinching the bridge of my nose. _That is not science,_ I think. All of the requirements for the scientific method are there, yet the total lack of humanity represented in that video scares me. _Was I like that, back in District 13? _I wonder if that doctor was doing what he was told, coerced in some way or if he had a particular fascination with the subject matter. A part of me, the part of me that shut the video off, viciously hopes that he is dead.

I hear a discreet cough coming from the doorway. The visitor doesn't wait for an invitation and sits unceremoniously across from me.

"Hello, Plutarch." I hide my annoyance at his interruption and keep my voice even and calm. I have had years to practice just this sort of demeanor.

"Hi, Marus. Look, I just stopped by to check on Peeta's progress. I am sure that the President has told you we want to use his paintings in an exhibit. I am imagining a televised exclusive interview with him to delve into his recovery. Will you support that sort of interview? Brinna won't let me near him without your support."

I am not sure what bothers me more: Plutarch's easy use of our first names, or the fact that he does not actually seem interested in Peeta's well-being. I make sure not to show any of this in my facial expressions and sit quietly. This usually garners a certain reaction and I am not disappointed; Plutarch fills the silence.

"Brinna really needs this, Marus. The districts are still in disarray. Uprisings could come at any moment." He pauses and leans toward me conspiratorially, "There have even been a few threats on her life." He pauses dramatically, letting that sink in before continuing on, "She wouldn't want you to know about that, but I trust you. I can tell that you and she are becoming…close. I know you wouldn't want anything to happen to her."

_Is Plutarch actually trying to coerce me to protect Brinna by using Peeta for some little game? _Plutarch is putting a much more intimate spin on my relationship with Brinna than what actually exists. I become more offended as he continues to speak. Plutarch leans back in his chair a bit. "You and I both want to protect her. After all, every time there is a setback in her life, we can't have her running off and getting drunk, can we?" I take that last as a direct jibe: somehow, Plutarch knows about last night. I blink at him rather owlishly, trying to take in this latest bit of information. He takes that as his cue to leave. "Ok, well, you think about it, Marus. If you agree that Peeta is well enough, call my office." He places a card on my desk and departs.

I stare at the door. _How does Plutarch know about last night? What does he know, exactly? And why does he seem to think that Brinna and I are…close? _That is followed closely with a feeling of fear for Brinna. I hope Plutarch is overstating the threats on her life. I would not put it past Plutarch to exaggerate things in order to achieve his goals. _What if it is true? _I can easily see how the districts are still in a state of upheaval. This is a tricky time in the new Panem and much of the outcome is yet to be determined.

I go over what I know again: I know that Plutarch somehow knows about last night and is willing to use that information against me. I know that he is using Peeta for his own ends. I know that Brinna is in danger, whether that danger is from Plutarch using our "relationship" against her or from some violent action from the districts.

I tidy the desk and check my jacket pocket. I have to find Brinna.


	6. Uncharted Territory

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

It is early afternoon before I finally locate Paylor outside the stalls in the horse training paddocks. It is a large facility that is partially indoors and partially outdoors where horses for the Games and other Capitol pageants are kept healthy and happy. As I walk around the facility, I cannot help but think that there are people in the districts who have less to eat and keep them warm than these horses. The stalls are as large as our sleeping compartments back in District 13. The horses themselves are magnificent; I have not ever been this close to an animal larger than myself. They must sense that I find them intimidating because they nicker as I walk by.

I see Paylor sitting outside the stall of a large black specimen. He seems to be staring at her, while she has her head tilted back toward the sun streaming into the stall area. Her eyes are closed and her jacket is lying next to her on the bench. I would think she is relaxing except that I can detect the slump of her shoulders. She looks dejected, almost beaten. I do not want to startle either the horse or Paylor _–Brinna! If Plutarch can call her that, so can I—_so Istop short of her bench and lean back against the wall. The horse moves his eyes to me but does not make a sound of greeting. The name plate next to his stall reads, "Maximus". We stand like that for a few minutes: Maximus and I staring at each other, Brinna's face bathed in sunlight, scar hidden in shadow.

"Did you bring some sugar?" She says softly, breaking the quiet. Her eyes remain closed.

"What?" _How does she even know I am here?_

"Sugar cubes. Or apples – I think Maximus here actually prefers apples. Did you bring either one?" I fumble for the apples and sugar cubes I have brought with me. When I look up, she is staring at me with one eyebrow raised in surprise. I can almost hear her asking me if I thought I was feeding the whole paddock.

"I read somewhere that horses like sugar and apples. I had no idea how much to bring when I found out you were here…" I finish sheepishly, holding the offering out to her. She looks at me for a moment, then laughs. I am struck speechless by the voluptuousness of the sound and the generosity with which she laughs. I reflect on how ridiculous I must look with my hands filled with sugar and apples and begin laughing with her. It feels good to just give in to the joy and utter silliness of the moment.

With the laughter lingering around us, she takes my hands and shows me how to hold a single cube in my flattened palm for Maximus to enjoy. When his hairy equine lips nuzzle my palm, I give an obvious start. Brinna is there with her smile flashing and holds me steady. She coaxes me through it, next offering him an apple. He nickers appreciatively and I bravely reach out to touch his muzzle. When she lets out a quiet, husky laugh in appreciation, I am almost undone by her, the horse, and the golden sunlight around us.

I cannot remember a more perfect moment.

Maximus tires of us eventually and goes back to whatever it is that horses do. Brinna and I fall into a silence that I am sure neither of us wants to break.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

_How did such a horrible day go so suddenly right? _I can't tell if it is the fresh air, the horse, or the laughter, but I feel better than I have all day. I would be totally carefree if I didn't feel like I have the weight of the free world on my shoulders. I owe so much of that to the man standing quietly next to me that I feel like I need to say something. "Dr. Aurelius, I am sorry about last night." He seems surprised.

"You have no need to apologize. And I thought it was Marus?" he says, alluding to my parting statement earlier in the day.

I ignore the barb. "Yes, I do. I took advantage of your kindness and integrity. You watched out for both Peeta and me last night. You at least deserve my thanks." He nods, uncomfortably accepting my thanks.

He motions at the horses and the stalls around us. "What brought you out here today?"

I laugh lightly, as if the whim was a silly one. "Plutarch came by my office today. He reminded me of how much I loved the horses. I thought that it was a shame I had not been out to see them yet." Even though I am not looking at him directly, I can see the furrow that forms between his eyes.

"Had you talked about that… the horses… with Plutarch before?" Marus seems intensely focused on something and I can feel my own brow furrow in confusion.

"No." I think of the topics Plutarch and I usually talk about and horses do not rank among them. "I don't know how he knew." Something about Marus's expression starts my heart thudding in my chest; his questioning is anything but flippant.

"Brinna, listen to me. Last night you mentioned the horses being your favorite part of the Games." He stops as if searching for words, taking in my dumfounded expression. "You said that you had always wanted to see them and that you were sorry you hadn't made it out here yet."

"What…" I clear my voice, "What are you implying?"

"I know this may sound outlandish, but I think Plutarch may have watched us last night." His voice is grim. I search his eyes, looking for the joke or the subterfuge. I see nothing but his intense blue-green eyes.

I take a deep breath. "Tell me everything."

As Marus tells me about his visit with Plutarch – his subtle coercion to use Peeta, his knowledge of the instability of the districts – I cannot help but feel betrayed. Plutarch helped bring the new government to fruition. How can he be trying to undermine it? I hear Marus asking me if the threats against me are real.

I nod, watching his eyes become even more intense. No one was supposed to know about them, I explain. The threats were easily dealt with – a Coin loyalist had tried on to make my presidency a past tense. The expression on his face doesn't change. It's like he truly cares. I find that thought comforting.

I explain about Districts 2 and 13 – how 13 is the larger threat because they have nuclear weapons and are completely self-sufficient. Finally, I explain that violence in any district can tip the precarious balance and topple the new government. I think he knows me well enough to understand that I will not allow that to happen.

"Why would Plutarch watch us? Would he be trying to protect you?" Marus asks, obviously trying to puzzle it out.

I speak slowly, thoughtfully, "What if… What if he wants leverage? What if he was watching me, not us? To see if he could find some piece of information that he could use to get him something that he wants?"

"Like what?" Marus looks baffled.

"Like a new Hunger Games." I explain about the rest of Plutarch's visit, ending with, "He wants a new Hunger Games. If he can't have one, he'll take Peeta instead. He wants Peeta to be the glue that keeps Panem together." I feel slightly ill at the thought of using Peeta for the benefit of the government.

"I will authorize the exhibit and whatever else Plutarch wants."

"Please don't endanger Peeta's health. I'll need to find some way to quell the violence without reinstituting the Games. Negotiating with 13 will be best accomplished face to face."

Marus turns to face me, his eyes on mine and his face oddly tense. _Is that concern? _ "Please don't put yourself in any danger, Brinna. Peeta can do this."

I say with what I hope is flippancy, "Maybe I am just craving that District 13 fish stew." He doesn't laugh.

"If you are going to go to 13, let me accompany you. I know 13 and can be an asset. Plutarch already thinks we are having a relationship, so it will not seem out of character for either of us…" I gape at the doctor. He looks embarrassed. My pulse is racing a bit at the thought of anyone believing that of us. I can barely admit to myself that I find him attractive. My confusion must show on my face because Marus explains,"Plutarch implied that he believes we have more than friendship between us." _Wow. What was on that video?_

"And did you disabuse him of that notion?" I sound angry. In reality, I am suddenly so wound up to hear his answer that I can feel every muscle go rigid.

"No." The word comes out of Marus's mouth like an expletive, hard and explosive. I hear the reverberation pinging around in my head even as I note that Marus does not drop his eyes from mine, but a pulse is visible in his neck, beating erratically. I have the fleeting and irrational thought that I want to press my lips to that spot.

"Why not?" I don't mean to sound combative. At least, I don't think I do. I know Marus does not deal well with confrontation but I want to understand why he would cover for me. _Liar. You want to know if he feels any of what you feel when you are near him._

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

_Why not?_ Her words hang in the air expectantly. I have no words to explain that would not implicate me in feeling something I am not ready to share. If I am honest with myself, words about how I feel have never been something I have cultivated; they were never needed in District 13 and even frowned upon by Alma Coin. I have always been too busy, to focused, too introspective for those types of words to cross my lips. I feel them, though. In this moment, with Brinna, knowing the danger she has faced and will likely again, the tenderness I felt last night holding her is magnified.

I am unable to tell her.

I see expectancy on her face. She demands an answer and she is my president. I respect her. I believe in her.

I blink slowly, taking a fortifying breath. I am taking a leap into uncharted territory and struggling for the right words to convey it, "I did not deny we have a relationship…because I want one."

_A/N: This chapter was really difficult to write – that balance of frustrated desire and believability is a tough line to walk. For the three of you still reading this story, how did I do? _


	7. Return to Yesterday

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 7: Return to Yesterday

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

In my mind's eye, I see myself saying the words I am regretting in fifty different ways. _I did not deny we have a relationship… because I want one." _I cringe when I recall the blank look on her face - that look telling me without words her utter disdain at the idea. _I am so stupid_. I picture the scene over and over: the sunlight turning her skin golden, her cheeks pink tinged, her hair blowing slightly in the wind and my mouth opening to ruin the first relationship I have had in years.

The president had quickly covered her incredulity with an argument that I should not accompany her. She did not want to put me in danger, she said. It would take me away from my patients, she said. I read the truth behind the fact that her eyes would not meet mine. She didn't want me with her. My stony faced silence was all that greeted her arguments and my stubborn resistance wore her down without my needing to speak. I enjoy silence, which was helpful during the long hovercraft ride to District 13. We did not so much as exchange a look the entire ride. Not even the presidential protection soldiers, whose joking and curiosity about the trip and the payload of cookies echoed on the hovercraft, could lighten the mood.

We had arrived in 13 and she had walked by me, leaving me alone like I was nothing to her and she did not need me. _She does not want me, _I think bitterly. I close my eyes and try to accept it. I vaguely wonder if she will remember that I am with her or leave me here when the hovercraft departs.

I groan to myself as the thought ricochets in my head. I have been unable to sleep in the time it took for this trip to be planned. I cannot get the scene, my words, or her reaction out of my head and I wish that I could wind back the clock and rescind them. I seem to have forgotten the work it takes to cloak myself in armor and guard against intimacy and the hurt that relationships can bring. I have forgotten that hurt and insecurity steal a person's focus and rob them of their purpose.

I need to remember that people are just bags of nerves and chemicals. I understand the science behind those things. It is predictable and undemanding, and I can control it. Right now, I need to control it.

I drop my overnight bag in my old room and make my way down to my lab office. I keep a keen eye out as I walk, looking for changes that the revolution and time have brought to my district. I see familiar faces moving with the same economy of motion. I see some of the District 12 refugees, looking more integrated into the community, also moving with purpose. Everyone still has schedules on their arms. Research continues to occur in the lab and there are other men in white coats doing various activities there. I wave to a few colleagues, who nod in return. No one stops to chat. The district is mostly earth tones and I cannot help but contrast that with the glitter and color of the Capitol.

My lab office, a tiny room comprised of a small desk, file drawers and two chairs, looks unused and dusty. The new leader of 13 has not reallocated the office yet, presumably because my departure is meant to be temporary. I hang my jacket carefully on its hook and sit in my chair, staring at the blotter on my desk and its carefully annotated days: each day catalogued neatly and systemically. Notes about Peeta begin to jump out at me and I backtrack to an early day in his treatment. I punch up the video of that session, which occurred shortly after Peeta was rescued, curious to compare his sessions here with those from the Capitol.

Immediately the screen fills with a familiar-enough looking scene: Peeta is in the background, strapped to a chair. He is bruised everywhere, including his face. He is thin, with dark circles under his eye. His head is bandaged. A screen in front of him plays a video from his first Hunger Games and he is growling and seething with fury; face red and straining against the bindings. In the foreground stands a doctor in a white lab coat: me. I am talking about the patient, explaining about the observed effects of his hijacking. I am calmly explaining that we are prepping a serum to have a calming effect that we will associate with the person that seems to trigger the negative reaction. We will monitor the results of the serum for 24 hours, all the while exposing the patient to video at periodic intervals to gauge and measure his reaction. I had meant for that treatment to negate some of his hatred and bring him back to a more neutral emotion. It had just made him tired.

I fast-forward to another treatment. In this video, Delly Cartwright is talking to Peeta in his room. He is still restrained, but looks less bruised and beaten. I watch as Delly talks to him about his childhood and some of their shared memories. His face remains clear and relaxed until he asks questions about his family. When Delly answers him, his face clouds, gets tense and then morphs into an angry and violent mask. The intent of that treatment was to draw the line between safe and not safe memories, using someone who was a neutral or positive influence. So strong was the hijacking that we had only achieved mixed results.

I spend hours going over records and looking at video. I re-catalog every treatment with the pluses and minuses of the results. I recalculate my formula for an anti-hijacking serum, looking to reduce the risk of memory loss, knowing that is the only way Peeta will take the chance and allow us to use it. I am still convinced that the serums is his best option for a full recovery and busily make notes of selling points to use when I explain it to him again.

I barely notice that the video feed continues to play until I hear a soft female voice talking to Peeta: it is Primrose Everdeen. This is not part of the treatment videos I normally watch, so I have never seen it before. She is in Peeta's room while Peeta looking well fed but tired is restrained on his bed. He also looks dispirited and hopeless. Primrose's soft voice is talking to him about District 12, bringing up specific memories about Peeta, his family, school, even Katniss.

"Peeta, remember the wrestling competitions in school?" His face is turned away from her, like he is physically not to engaging in the conversation. "I'm sure you do. You were always so good. You beat Riley. I remember how happy you looked when they gave you the medal during assembly – you were just beaming. Remember your cakes? They were always so beautiful. Even when I was just a small girl, I would look at them in the window and think they were the prettiest things I had ever seen. When you told me that you were the one who frosted them, I was shocked because you always seemed so…big. I couldn't imagine someone so large painting such tiny and delicate flowers. You finally decorated one in front of me to convince me." Primrose laughs. I see Peeta turn toward her, his eyes filled with tears.

I am sure he is going to ask her to stop because it is too painful. Instead, he says, "What else….what else do you remember?"

Primrose takes his hand in hers. I can see that this startles him because he almost pulls away. Her grip tightens, as if she has anticipated his reaction and she refuses to let go. She meets his blue eyes with her own and continues, "I remember you watching us when we would walk home from school. Your eyes would follow us until we were out of sight of the school yard. I never understood why you didn't say something or ask to walk with us. I even asked Katniss about it once." She watches his eyes carefully for a reaction and gently strokes his hand. "I remember joking with you after…after your Games when you would come over to our house. You were so nice to me and to my Mom, even though she was pretty mad at you for kissing Katniss on TV." Peeta still has not reacted in a negative way to anything Primrose has said. That she is the one talking to him is significant. Even more significant is the fact that some of the subject matter she has covered even Delly could not get through without an episode occurring.

Peeta closes his eyes and I am astounded by what happens next. "I remember you skipping on the way home a lot. I remember your face stuck up against the bakery window looking at the cakes. Your sister always looked annoyed that you made her stop. Is that true?" He opens his eyes and Primrose nods. He sighs. "It's like I can see certain things…from before. Your sister…I told everyone at the interview that I had a crush on her?" Primrose nods again. "Was that true?"

"You used to watch her a lot. I used to tease her about it because I think she used to watch you too. You never talked to us, though."

He closes his eyes again. "It's like I have these memories from before where I can see your sister and your family clearly and then I lose them somehow. She's not a mutt? She isn't from the Capitol? Did I watch her because she was evil?"

Primrose takes it as an honest question and answers in kind, "No. She saved my life by volunteering for me at the Reaping. And you gave us bread once, when we really needed it, so you couldn't have thought she was evil."

Peeta turns his head back to the wall. "I'm so lost."

Primrose says with total conviction, "Peeta, anything that is lost can be found. And we'll all help you look." She gives his hand one final pat. "I can see you're really tired, so I'll go. I hope it was ok that I came today. I didn't want to make you sick. I just wanted to talk to you." She gets up to leave.

I hear Peeta very quietly say, "Will you come visit again?"

She nods and then leaves.

I cross reference the interaction with my notes and see that shortly after, Peeta asked to be allowed to bake. Shortly after that, he frosted the cake for Finnick Odair's wedding. I wonder how many other visits with Primrose there were in that time.

I sit at my desk awhile, writing Delly Cartwright and Primrose Everdeen over and over, trying to puzzle out why one series of questioning trigger episodes and one did not. Logic would dictate that Primrose should have been the one to cause a violent reaction, since she was related to Katniss and therefore closely linked to Peeta's time in the Hunger Games as well. Yet that was not the reaction that had occurred.

As the dinner bell chimes, I cannot help but think, _What was so different about Primrose Everdeen? _I tidy my desk, put on my jacket and check my pocket, all the white turning that question over in my mind. I cannot seem to find a discernible difference between Primrose's conversation and Delly's time with Peeta.

I am still ruminating on this question all the way through the food line. It is not until I sit at a table, smooth my napkin in my lap and take a spoonful of stew that I feel eyes on me. I look up reflexively and immediately wish I hadn't: brown eyes lock with mine across the room. I had almost successfully forgotten that the President was even in District 13. I fleetingly wonder how her day has progressed, then staunchly ignore any feeling of concern. She made it abundantly clear when she ignored me the entire trip that I had no right to feel concern or warmth for her. _Why did I ever tell her I wanted a relationship? _I think for the hundredth time. She looks away first and I finish my meal mechanically, thankful that only a few people stop to say hello.

**A/N: I have moved this down from M to T: As I get closer to some intimacy between Brinna and Marus, I just can't seem to stomach making it graphic. Also, since this story and Moving On are actually intertwined and that is a T story, it makes sense to keep this one T as well. Comments/Criticisms are always welcome!**


	8. Bad Day

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Chapter 8: Bad Day

Brinna Paylor's POV

I can feel the moment Marus enters the room for dinner and I can't help but follow him with my eyes. By the time he sits down and looks up to catch me staring, all I want to do is throw my well laid plans for this trip to the wind and throw my arms around him. That's been all I've wanted to do ever since he said those three little words. Add to that the disaster that has been the day thus far… and I drop my eyes from his. _Concentrate, Brinna. The fate of Panem hangs in the balance here. _

I know that Marus is hurt by my lack of reaction to him: the trip planning occurred so quickly, and then we were on the hovercraft ride with my guard detail. I was so wound up, thinking about the negotiations that would need to take place to ensure 13 remained a happy and healthy part of the new government. I kept telling myself that I could not afford any distractions, even as I could smell his soap and hear him breathing, sitting so close but miles away. During one brief respite from reviewing my strategy notes, I wondered what my guard detail would do if I just turned to the doctor and kissed him. What he perceived as lack of reaction was my guard against too much of one.

I was glad I had prepared for the meeting with 13 because negotiating with 13's new leader, Lijah Steev, had proved grueling. He was as quiet as Marus and just as difficult to decode. I wish that I had been able to develop strategy with Marus, who probably could have provided some key insight if I hadn't been too busy appearing to ignore him.

Leader Steev had been hospitable all day – we had toured all of the facility, including weapons, the food farms, and power plants. Hospitality wasn't the problem. The problem was that I knew that he had nukes at his disposal and was self-sufficient enough to shut down his doors to the rest of Panem. I did not want that to happen again. I had to find an angle to keep 13 participating in a non-threatening way. The only way to do that was to find a resource that 13 needed or wanted that it could not produce itself.

So far none of my angles had been successful; Steev was as closed a book as when we had arrived.

After dinner I excused myself for a few minutes to think. _What would Marus do?_ He would analyze all angles of the equation calmly and coolly. That hadn't brought me much luck so far. I laughed at the irony: the one district in the country that did not need anything from the Capitol and it was a risk for either taking over the whole government or leaving it. And the one person who might be able to give me insight was completely off limits. I need a new, fresh perspective and laugh at myself a little when I think, _What would Peeta do? _Peeta would start with something that we have in common, then listen and ask questions to find the angle that meant mutual success.

I rejoin Leader Steev and we walk through to the recreation area. We pass several people I knew from my time here and many more that I did not: my time in 13 as a rebel soldier provided limited social interaction. Steev tells me that families are now allowed to congregate in the recreation area after dinner for as long as an hour to play games, watch television, read, etc. I do not recall television being something that was allowed before, s o I file that information away. I ask Steev about education in 13. Being a teacher, I am curious how different schools are here versus my home district. I have yet to even tour a school in the Capitol.

As Steev is explaining their education program, I spy a little boy playing ball with his friends. The conversation centers around class subject matter, student to teacher ratios, testing and physical competency, which all result in grades that determine the individual's role within the community of 13. While I am listening, I keep an eye on the boy – he has dark hair, blue eyes and is about four years old. Something in his movements or maybe his face is familiar but I can't place it. I ask Steev some questions about testing (do they have standardized tests or essay to determine competency?) and notice the little boy running toward a woman who is about five years older than I am. As the boy turns to wave at his friends, the resemblance becomes clear – he is Boggs's son.

I tell Steev that I would like to distribute some of the cookies I've brought with me from the Capitol – I almost phrase it as a question, so he knows that he can disagree. When he agrees wholeheartedly with the idea of treats, one of my guards goes to retrieve them from the hovercraft. We continue to talk education, specifically the role of life experience versus theoretical learning, when the cookies are delivered to the recreation area. Total chaos ensues as the children mob the guards. I can't help but laugh at the expressions of children and parents alike. I am beyond pleased when I notice Steev smiling indulgently as well.

Under cover of the cookie distribution, I make my way over to Boggs's widow and reintroduce myself. She remembers me from my prior time in 13. We both watch as her little boy devours one cookie, then another. I say, "I am so sorry for your loss. Soldier Boggs was a good man." I mean it. If Boggs had not died during the Star Squad's assault on the Capitol there is a good chance that he would have been President. I know he would have had my vote, and probably Katniss's, Gale's and Peeta's as well.

She smiles sadly. "Thank you. We miss him." I nod, not really sure what to say. I have no frame of reference for what it is like to lose a husband or the father of your child.

"Your little boy reminds me of him."

"He wants to be a soldier, like his Daddy." Her breath hitches a bit. "We never thought… all those years that he trained and we never really thought that he would see action. I never thought there would actually be danger. Now he wants to follow in his Daddy's footsteps. How do I tell him no? How do I tell him I can't lose him too?" I reach out and squeeze her hand. It is the least I can do for the crazy way her life has turned around in a year. We stand there for a minute or two.

"Is 13 treating you well?" Boggs was very well-regarded in 13 so I anticipate she is comfortable here.

"Yes." She sighs, and then looks at me apologetically. "I have to be honest, though. I look at J.B. and think of him growing up here, underground. I wonder if that's what would have happened if his Daddy was still here. There are ghosts everywhere here. Some nights I can't even breathe, I feel so suffocated with the weight of it."

"Would you want to go somewhere else?"

She laughs a little at the thought. "I would feel so guilty leaving. How can I take another child from this place when 13 has already lost so many? This is the only home we've ever known."

I nod a little absently as I look around again, this time silently estimating headcount. _There are so few children!_ I had just assumed that the families in the recreation room where only a small subset of families at 13. The alternative to being here and being social is going back to family quarters. If I recall, those are fairly small, so most families would want to be here after dinner. This theory seems sound when I really look around and notice quite a few families from 12 and 13. A good number of young people are gone, though. _Exactly how big is13, now?_Alma had wanted to make sure that 13 escaped unscathed and she had done a great job of protecting its infrastructure. It's children, however, did not seem to have fared very well.

Steev comes over and joins us. "Thank you for a wonderful surprise." He motions to the children who are begging any last crumbs from my team.

"You're welcome. I'm glad they enjoyed them." I smile back. "I brought more, for the rest of the families too. Perhaps you can serve them with lunch or dinner tomorrow."

"Oh, that is quite nice but unnecessary. As you can see, most every family had already had some of them." He gestures to the families around us.

I listen to the sound of children laughing and playing and think, _Now I know what 13 needs that I can provide. _A secondary thought follows, _If this works, Mrs. Boggs and J.B. can go anywhere they like._

_-Later-_

Steev and I come to an understanding: he admits that 13's population is a problem and that he is worried about sustaining it. He worries even more about what will happen as people travel to and from other districts. Short of shutting his doors so his people can't travel, he foresees a continued drop in population as the experiences inside his district cannot compete with those outside of it.

I explain that I have populations without safe harbor and who also lack resources. If he can commit to sending some of his resources to other districts and also accepting some from the Capitol (like electricity) to support a larger population, I can keep is population moving in a positive direction. We can advertise 13 as a safe place to live and correct the fertility issue, all with one fell swoop. All it will take to cement the deal is for Steev to commit to a few things: fewer restrictions on schedules and movement to reduce culture shock for people moving into 13, and he must agree to disarm the nuclear weapons.

It takes another four hours to hash out the nuclear disarmament details. Steev will provide status and I will visit periodically to check on the progress. Steev will continue to take his place during our council gatherings whenever possible and will alert the Capitol to any security concerns surrounding his district. Lastly, we will begin plans to advertise and recolonize 13 as soon as the first of the nukes is disarmed.

It is nearly midnight when we are done with our discussions and we agree to meet for breakfast the next morning. We shake hands to seal the bargain: I hope he feels we both gain solid footing for the future of the country.

I am wired in a way that suggests that I want to head to the Training Center and slash at something with a sword or climb a rope until I am as exhausted physically as I am mentally. The problem is that there is nowhere to train at midnight in 13, and I doubt Marus has a sword in his office_. _That's when it hits me: I haven't spoken to Marus yet. He has no idea how I feel about him, or why I've been so silent.

It would seem that my negotiations are not over yet.


	9. Nightmare

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Chapter 9: Nightmare

Marus Aurelius's POV

I am invited to the recreation room, where I understand most families congregate after dinner. The thought of heading to that area, of seeing families and being socially inept while I strain for news of Brinna is too much for me to take. "Lights out" is in an hour anyway, so I just shortcut to the next step and go directly to my room. My room is quiet, safe, and less demanding. The austerity and utter sparseness of it makes it feel like a cage after the opulence and freedom of the Capitol. I pace the rectangle of space, thinking more on the Delly/Primrose puzzle but not making much headway.

I walk over to the video screen in my room. Alma Coin had it installed when she promoted me to head scientist. I had wondered at the time if it was as much so she could watch me as it was so I could do work in my room. I punch up the Primrose video up and forward until I find another visit from Primrose to Peeta. This time, she brings Haymitch Abernathy with her. I do not have much contact with Haymitch, except a few altercations during Katniss's treatment. His behavior seemed to range from disengaged to downright belligerent. I wonder what Primrose hopes for him to add to the conversation.

That's when I notice that Peeta is no longer restrained. It dawns on me that Haymitch may not add much socially. He may be there to protect Primrose.

"Hi, Peeta!" Primrose's soft voice rings out. Peeta's face lights up when he sees her. "I brought another visitor this time." Peeta spies Haymitch. Both Haymitch and Peeta look uncomfortable for a moment.

"Hello, boy." Haymitch says gruffly. He's carrying something.

"Peeta, Haymitch thought you might like to play chess. Do you think you remember how?" Peeta thinks for a minute, then nods slowly. Haymitch starts setting up the board. After a minute, Peeta helps him.

"The cake you decorated for Annie and Finnick was beautiful, Peeta." Primrose sits on a chair, swinging her legs back and forth. With the three of them in the room, it is actually quite crowded. I hope that Peeta does not have an episode in that enclosed space. Then I think, _he probably didn't or I would have heard about it. The whole reason I knew nothing about her visits was that they were uneventful._

Peeta nods and smiles at her. "Thanks. I had to borrow a book about District 4 so I could copy some pictures."

"The water frosting was so real! Did you get the colors from the book too?" Primrose's enthusiasm for Peeta's work is contagious - even Haymitch is nodding.

"Mostly." Peeta stops setting up the board and his eyes take on a clouded look. "I saw a beach and an ocean during the Quarter Quell." Primrose and Haymitch stop moving and watch Peeta closely. While Haymitch's face shows wariness, Primrose's is still open and trusting.

She places a hand on Peeta's arm. "That's right. That must be how you got the color and the waves just right." Peeta drops his eyes to her hand on his arm, staring unseeingly at it. Haymitch takes a cautious step forward in a protective gesture. Prim pats Peeta's arm again and this seems to snap him out of it. Peeta's eyes clear and he thanks her quietly for the compliment. Haymitch steps backward and takes a seat.

The chess game starts. It is slow going, and I hear Haymitch explaining the game casually and almost gently whenever Peeta seems to falter. Primrose watches the game and a few minutes go by until Peeta captures a pawn and Primrose smiles at Haymitch.

"We used to do this? Play chess?" Peeta looks up at Haymitch, who nods. "I think I used to beat you. And you used to storm out of the house sometimes while we laughed." Haymitch looks oddly emotional for a moment.

"It didn't happen all that often, boy. Don't go getting a big head over it." I can see that Haymitch is pleased that Peeta recalls something they did together.

It is quiet again for a moment when Peeta speaks again, "Prim, you have a goat? And a cat?"

"Lady and Buttercup. I still have Buttercup. She followed us here."

"The cat and your sister used to hiss and each other. And we used to laugh about it?"

Primrose smiles at Peeta. "They still hate each other."

Peeta is smiling back at Primrose when Haymitch cuts in, "Are we going to play chess or what?" Peeta and Primrose burst into laughter. Peeta's face transforms into the face I have come to know in the Capitol.

He is still smiling when the door opens and two soldiers come into the room.

"Peeta Mellark, please come with us." One of them says.

"Where are you taking him?" Primrose seems scared and even Haymitch seems concerned. It is only Peeta who remains calm. He bends down to be at eye level with Primrose.

"Prim, you know I've been training, right?" She nods. "I have to go. I have to go fight now. It's what I've been training for."

"Boy, don't do anything stupid." Haymitch cautions. Before Peeta can respond, Primrose has rushed over to him.

"You're going to protect her, right? Peeta? You're going to protect her? She still loves you, I know she does…" Primrose's voice gets more and more desperate as he does not answer. He simply squeezes her hand, rises and leaves the room with the soldiers.

Primrose stands there in shocked silence and then launches herself at Haymitch. She can barely speak. "Hay…Haymitch, he's going to be alright, right? And so is Katniss? He's better now, right?" She is holding onto Haymitch so tightly that her arms tremble.

"I hope so, Prim. I really hope so." Haymitch pats her on the shoulder as if he is trying to console her.

I shut off the monitor because I have seen enough of Peeta's pain to last a lifetime. I think again about the serum that could make all of his pain go away and let him reestablish himself in any form he likes as I go through my nightly bed time ritual. I turn toward the wall, give one more thought to Brinna – a whisper of a wish, really – and give myself up to sleep.

_I am restrained, in a white chair, seated in front of two video monitors._

_On one monitor, Peeta is restrained in a room, watching a video screen of his own. He writhes in pain and anger while watching Katniss treat his leg for blood poisoning during his first Games. Spit dribbles out of his mouth, and he mumbles incoherently. He is bruised and bloody everywhere but his face._

_On the second monitor, Peeta is in my lab in 13. He is restrained in a room, watching a video of Katniss and him kissing during the Quarter Quell. His eyes are glassy and he barely moves, while spit dribbles out of his mouth and he can barely hold his head up. His arms are bruised from many injections. _

_A doctor in a white lab coat – the same doctor who treated Peeta in the Capitol - walks into my field of vision. The doctor explains that the videos are alike because we are alike, he and I. Who am I to call what I do treatment while is actions are called torture? He points to the monitors and tells me to look at my patient. Do I see how much I am helping him? Peeta is no different than a lab rat. He demands that I admit it, that I say it out loud. As I struggle against my restraints much like Peeta on monitor one, he demands that I say it again. When I do not, a door opens and a large lab rat comes into the room. He asks me to say it one more time. When I still refuse, the rat comes closer. I see that it is larger than a normal rat and it has razor sharp teeth and it comes closer and closer to me while I hear Peeta's screams…_

I jolt awake.

As I shakily splash water on my face, I think about the dream, my treatments, Primrose's and Delly's visits with Peeta and my nightmare. Somehow it all clicks: I know what it is that Primrose gave to him with her visits – hope. Unlike Delly's visits, which focused on structured topics, or my treatment, which focused on chemicals and dosages, Primrose trusted Peeta to guide himself. By letting him discover happy memories himself, she gave him the gift of hope in his own ability to recover. Hope trumps insecurity and fear and can neutralize hate. If we focus on the positive associations, Peeta will continue to get stronger.

I think about my serum and its premise that building on a clean slate is better than rehabilitating his original memories. I have already made a faulty assumption that Peeta will want to jettison all memories. Am I making another, more fundamental mistake? If I wipe out all of his memories, there will be no good ones to reinforce and Peeta will never be anything but insecure. He will always be fearful of what was Real or Not Real and will never know for sure. He will never have closure.

That is when it dawns on me that I have been viewing Peeta's treatment incorrectly. I have been treating Peeta not based on his own wants and needs and context, but my own. For a very long time I have wanted a fresh start. I have wanted to forget about my failed relationships, my dreams of becoming something other than a scientist, my desire to break out of the mold into which I had been cast but unable to find a means to do so. I had assumed that Peeta wanted the same fresh start and that I was unencumbering him of unpleasant memories. _Who am I to judge the memories that Peeta keeps dear to him? Whether it is Buttercup hissing at Katniss, or the color of the waves on the beach in the Quarter Quell, he should be allowed to keep those memories and build upon them._

I wonder if assuming Peeta has the same needs I do makes me a horrible person. I know it makes me a poor doctor. _People are not just bags of nerves and chemicals; we are not all the same. _I vow that I will listen more closely to my patients, Peeta in particular. I vow to be more like the best parts of my patients, starting with renewing their focus on the best in themselves.

I stare at myself in the mirror and see familiar blue-green eyes, spiky light brown hair starting to gray around the temples. _What is the best part of you, Marus?_

A light knock on the door jars my already frazzled nerves. I rub my hands over my eyes to clear away the last vestiges of the nightmare, grab my shirt off a chair and slip it on – whoever is knocking after lights out should not be greeted with a bare chest – and make my way to the door.

I open the door slightly, blinking in the blue light from an emergency lantern. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and to identify my visitor as Brinna. Her suit is rumbled, she looks exhausted, but her smile is the widest I have ever seen it. It takes my muddled brain time to put together that she is standing on my doorstep in 13, that it is late, and that we have not spoken since I confessed having feelings for her.

I am sure that the confusion shows on my face.

I step back into my room in unconscious invitation while trying to formulate a greeting that sounds appropriate. When Brinna crosses the threshold she puts the light down on a nearby table and comes to stand close to me. The blue light behind her throws her face into shadow so her expression is unfathomable.

"Everything alright?' It is the best greeting I can do for this highly irregular visit.

I feel more than see the imperceptible nod from Brinna. "It is now."

My brain is still sluggish and has barely registered her words when I feel her dark form step closer to me. She is so close, close enough to…Whatever thought was in my head disappears when I feel her cool hands lightly touch my face.

"Brinna…" I want to stop her or warn her or grab her hand and hold it to my face and tell her to never to stop touching me.

Her lips touch mine with her name still hanging in the air between us. Her hands stay on my cheeks a moment while our lips warm to each other's. I am afraid to move, afraid to break whatever spell drove her here. _Am I dreaming? _She eases back slightly and I feel the cool space between the heat of our lips. I am suddenly desperate for that space to disappear, to be close to her again, for the dream to continue. I lean forward gently touching my lips to hers. This time, it is my hands gently cupping her face while I communicate everything I feel for her wordlessly with my lips. _Do you understand what I feel when we touch like this? _Brinna answers by sliding her fingers into my hair as our lips cling in soft discovery.

**A/N: Not as well edited as I would have preferred, so I apologize. I wanted to get this up on the site tonight. Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	10. Negotiations

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**(A/N: Warning: Very lemony Chapter.)**

Chapter 10: Negotiations

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I stride down the hall with renewed purpose, preparing what I am going to say when I see Marus. I will see if he is awake _(Step 1)_. If he is, I will explain that I want to speak with him regarding our relationship (_Step 2)_. I will establish a timeline for the conversation – perhaps on the hovercraft ride back to the Capitol (_Step 3)_? I need to convince the doctor to put aside his feelings about my lack of responsiveness and listen to what I have to say. He won't turn me away. _Right? _I just negotiated the first step toward peace. I am sure I can accomplish these three things.

I stop in front of his door and lay my palm flat against it. The butterflies in my stomach take control and make me hesitant. _Brinna, you need to do this. If you don't do it now, you never will. _I straighten my shoulders and stand up straighter, then rap quietly on his door – no need to wake up the whole corridor.

Step 1: Complete.

I wait a few moments, straining to hear signs of activity. _This may be the shortest execution of a plan ever. _I hear someone bumping around right on the other side of the door and it opens slightly. I barely confirm that it is Marus when a few other things register: he is blinking like he was asleep, he is rumpled like he was asleep, and he is dressed like he was asleep. _He is dressed like he was asleep. _I spy an uncharacteristic amount of chest and my mouth goes completely dry.

_What was step 2?_ I think it was to step inside and tell him that we are going to talk about our relationship. I take another look at the opening of his shirt and the smooth skin visible there, swallow, then push my way inside his quarters. _It might be time for a change of tactics._

I deliberately put the emergency light down on a table because my hands are shaking so badly I might drop it. I swear that his skin is glowing in the soft blue light. I step closer so I can see if I am imagining things and I notice the confused look on his face in the diffuse glow of the light.

"Everything alright?" He says. His voice is quiet. Sleepy. It draws me closer to him, closer to that patch of skin and the warm smell of him. The need to touch him and see if he is as warm as he looks is overwhelming.

"It is now." My hands move up to his face of their own volition; his skin is warm to the touch, slightly moist against my cool fingertips. My eyes drop to his lips. _Are they warm too?_ I have to know what his lips feel like against mine.

"Brinna…"I hear the caution in his voice, like he can tell what I am thinking and wants to warn me off. Like he knows that what I want right now will change everything between us and give us no room to go back. I don't care. After everything I have seen in the past year, I want a selfish moment that is just mine. I want _him._

My lips brush his while my fingertips cup his face. For just a moment, I feel our lips slide against each other – mine slightly chapped catching at his soft and supple – and the very reality of the physical contact makes me pause. I pull back, our lips clinging slightly before putting a whisper of space between us. I want to weep. _What have I done?_ I barely have time to register that thought, to open my eyes and see his blue-green eyes lock on mine, when his lips slant against mine again. My eyes drift shut as I feel his fingers stroking my cheek. When his thumb gently brushes the corner of our joined lips, I slide my hands into his hair and lightly tug at the short spikiness of it to bring him closer.

I feel as drunk as I did in my library back in the Capitol. I hope fervently that, unlike that night, I remember every single thing about tonight. I tingle everywhere his skin touches mine. His hands slide to my neck, stroking lightly at my scar before sliding to my shoulders and nudging me gently away from him. When we break apart we are both breathing heavily.

_Wow._

I must have said it out loud because I hear Marus chuckle. He clears his throat. "Yes. That sums it up exactly."

I smile sheepishly. "Should I… should I apologize for what just happened?" I will if I need to. I don't know if I am strong enough to hear him say that it was a mistake and we need to forget it ever happened, though.

"Brinna…" Again I hear the caution in his voice, hear his hand run across his hair in frustration. "I should apologize for what happened the other day. I am sure that you felt like tonight… this… was necessary because of what I said. I assure you that you need not feel beholden to me for anything."

I feel his words like a slap across the face, like a burning sensation everywhere his hands trailed pleasant tingling only moments ago. "_Beholden?_ Is that the fancy head-doctor way of saying that I _owe_ you? Because… Because you covered for me with Plutarch?" I feel like I might vomit. _I trusted you. _Betrayal curls in the pit of my stomach.

In the dim light, I see his blue-green eyes widen in surprise at my vehemence.

"I didn't trust you when I first met you. I _knew_ you were one of Alma Coin's lackeys when we were both here in 13. Then the Capitol attack happened and everything fell apart. I saw what you were doing with Peeta and Katniss. I saw how gentle you were with them. How patient. I thought you might be different. I thought I could trust you and I was so lonely that I thought you might feel the same way; that you might feel _something_."

His silence strikes me like a blow. I still have plenty to say if only I can catch my breath, which seems to be coming in this sort of hitching sound.

"So maybe you and Plutarch are colluding to take the government of Panem? But let me tell you something… If you meant those words _at all_ you had better not apologize or take them back. I have had a horrible two days and the only thing that has helped me through them is remembering you saying that you want a relationship. That you want _me_."

The silence from Marus is deafening. All of the air rushes out of me, like a weight crushing me. I can feel the tears begin to flow wetly on my cheeks. _I have to get out of here. _The sobs build in my chest. I turn blindly toward where I believe the door to be, bump into a chair in my haste and push it angrily out of the way.

I finally grasp the door handle on my way to freedom from the nightmare this night has become. At the same time that I turn it, his hand covers mine. I hear his voice, his lips speaking close to my ear. "Brinna… don't leave like this. _Stop_." I wonder if he can feel the giant gulps of air I am breathing and the trembling of my hand underneath his. He speaks so quietly that I have to quiet my breathing to hear him. "It is the middle of the night. I have not spoken to you in days. I have no idea if you feel like this was necessary to fool Plutarch, or if you think this is convenient, or you are just lonely." His voice gets even quieter and I can feel his breath against my ear, the warmth of his body pressed against my back. "I cannot stop thinking about you – your face in the sunlight, your laugh, the way you move. To say that I want you is a gross understatement. But I need to know that you feel it too."

He takes my hand off of the door handle and gently turns me to face him. Even in the dim light I cannot bear to look at him. He gently cups my chin and forces my face to meet his. He notices my tears and reaches out to brush them away. "I am not good at relationships or explaining how I feel and I have a feeling this could get complicated." He motions between our bodies, which are still touching.

I give a watery chuckle and he squeezes my hands, then takes a step backward.

"So let's start tonight over. How are you? And to what do I owe this middle-of-the-night visit?"

I wipe my tears away, re-establishing my composure. "I am great. Negotiations went well and I think we have an agreement. We are meeting for breakfast. We can head back to the Capitol in the morning. I came by… I stopped by to tell you that. You? How was your day?"

"Interesting. Informative. I may have a lead on a therapy for Peeta." I nod in encouragement.

There is a heavy, awkward pause. I clear my throat and forge ahead. "I also wanted to tell you that I thought about your statement from a few days ago. And… and I would like that. I would like a relationship. With you."

"Good." I see his wide open smile and cannot help but smile back. "We will have to discuss this when we get back to the Capitol." I am not sure if the phrase is ripe with innuendo, or if that is just wishful thinking on my part. Either way, I am thankful that he has pushed the conversation back on track. He reaches for the door and wishes me good night, but I put my hand over his this time.

"I forgot that I brought you something." I reach into my pocket and pull out a primrose cookie wrapped in waxed paper. He looks down at my hand in surprise. "You didn't stay after dinner, and you said you liked them, so I brought you one. Goodnight, Marus." I kiss him quickly on the cheek, then slip out the door.


	11. Panem et Ludos

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**(A/N: For those of you reading/who have read "Moving On", you will notice that this Chapter corresponds to one from that story. This is on purpose because the two stories run concurrently, often with the same events told from different points of view. I will post the timeline for the overlap timeline before the next Chapter and on my profile.)**

**Chapter 11: Panem et Ludos**

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I have been meeting Peeta at the president's mansion for our sessions since coming back from 13. This is part of the new "positivity and trust" therapy that came out of watching his older videos. If I am honest, it is also because of my desire to see Brinna. It helps that Peeta and I tend to meet in either his studio, where I can see his paintings and work those into therapy, or the kitchen where I can watch him make all sorts of treats.

I am watching Peeta knead bread dough. I never thought that bread making was as physical as it is. It is easy to see how Peeta had the physical strength to survive both Games. I make a mental note that I should get a book or two about the process so I can understand it. He explains to me that Plutarch's idea to "paint happy memories" seems to have some merit to it. I think back to his conversation with Primrose and I think that Plutarch has unwittingly hit upon the same idea for Peeta's therapy. It will be a good thing because we will be reinforcing Peeta's recovery from two different angles.

Peeta begins talking about moving on and how it means leaving his loved ones behind. Whereas I have no desire to remember my past, Peeta clings to his as his lifeline and stability. I also know that he values his memories – even the painful ones - from his rejection of my memory cleaning serum. Peeta equates moving on with forgetting. Since most of his memories revolve around the dead, it also makes sense that Peeta's grieving process is involved and that he has significant survivor's guilt. If I knew more about baking, I would use an analogy for him: I would say something learning how to bake bread with nuts and raisins does not equate to forgetting how to make a basic loaf.

Peeta mentions how it seems like a shame to work so hard to recall all of these people and events, only to let them go. I watch him for a moment, this boy, making a loaf of bread. He is practicing a basic skill that he can build upon later. Primrose's talks with him did the same thing. I can get him to remember some basic, happy memories that will do double duty of reinforcing neurological connections and give him the confidence in his own recall to remember and then let go. It's like Peeta's dough: we will mix up memories like ingredients that Peeta will knead before letting them rest.

I stick to things I know when I say, "Peeta, I think it's safe to say that all of the normal grieving emotions are going to happen. And I can see that your hijacking and work to recover memories is also going to play into your grieving process. We've talked before that losing more of your memory is a fear of yours, so it makes total sense that you would be feeling all of this. How about we play a game? Perhaps that will help to reinforce those memories and, at the same time, reinforce the concept of looking for something good. Are you interested in a game?" I explain that it is a word association game: I will say a name and he should think of a positive memory associated with that name.

We talk. I give Peeta a name and he reminisces a bit. I find out that Delly was his first kiss, and his brothers were lively and protective and he remembers Primrose visiting him in 13. Mention of Rue, a fellow tribute in his First Hunger Games, triggers an episode that lasts several minutes.

I do not want Peeta's hard work to go to waste, so I take the bread out of the oven and breathe deeply as I do. Peeta recovers from his episode but seems unusually pensive afterward. I decide that I have pushed him enough for one day, so I bring the session to a close. Whatever Peeta is thinking of must be a good thing because he shakes my hand at the end of the session and gives me the still hot loaf of bread as a gift.

I head to Brinna's office, knowing that I want to share it with her. When I get there, I see that Plutarch is sitting with her.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I am thrilled when Marus interrupts my conversation with Plutarch: meeting with Plutarch sets me on edge, especially with his veiled innuendos about further uprisings. Plutarch invites Marus into our conversation and I see the annoyance on Marus's face even as I feel relieved.

"Dr. Aurelius! So good to see you!" Plutarch is effusive in his greeting. "I haven't seen you since before your visit to District 13. I heard that you helped our president close the deal there." I see Marus's eyes narrow at the inference. It would make me laugh if I weren't so exhausted already by Plutarch's enthusiasm.

"President Paylor did a wonderful job in 13." Marus says quietly. I acknowledge the compliment with a tilt of my head and a small smile.

Plutarch waves the compliment away dismissively. "Yes. Yes. Well, we're here just discussing that it may not be enough: what happened in 13. We may need…more."

"More?" I ask. I realize that District 2 may still be an issue and require special handling, but what beyond that?

"More, Brinna. Something to hold the public's interest. Something to make them hold their breath and remember passion and love and loyalty and bravery…"

_Oh no - he is going to bring up reinstituting the Hunger Games again._ "Plutarch," I interrupt him, "there is no way I am supporting another Hunger Games. I have already told you that."

"We have to do something. Panem needs a distraction."

"The Games is murder, not a distraction." I lock eyes with him to let him know I am serious about this. "What about the exhibit? Isn't that enough?"

Plutarch makes an oddly dismissive sound. "It's a bunch of people walking around, looking at pictures! It doesn't have the panache of an epic, televised event, the way a Games does."

_There has to be a way around this._

"What about your singing-show idea?" I know Plutarch has talked about it once or twice, trying to get the idea off the ground.

"It has to be new and fresh. The only way to really get people interested is if we had someone like the Mockingjay singing. Everyone else is just a tired old performer and it's been done to death." I look over at Marus. There is no way that either of us can picture Katniss as we last saw her performing on a singing show. Plutarch continues, oblivious to our shared look. "I was really hoping for a wedding. They are always such a great distraction; such feelings of love and passion." He looks from one of us to the other. I'm not sure what is more comical – my expression of shock or Marus's. _No. Not happening._

I counter with, "What about…interviews? What if we made an event out of the exhibit and we showcased the recovery of the nation? I could do an interview, we could cover the Capitol recovery first and then we could show the exhibit footage too." I don't like the idea of offering myself up to be interviewed, but I like the other options even less. I remind myself to have a good laugh over the wedding idea later, when I am alone.

Plutarch senses an angle, "What about if Peeta did an interview too? That might be enough for Panem." He draws his hands in the air in front of him, "The Star Crossed Lover from District 12 recovers from his torture and desolation, as our nation does the same…We can showcase stories of courage in the face of extreme loss across all 13 districts."

I can't tell if it's the idea of putting Peeta on display or Plutarch's theatrics that make me a little queasy. "Marus, is Peeta well enough to be interviewed for something like that?"

Marus meets my eyes thoughtfully. I hadn't noticed before, but he is holding a loaf of bread wrapped in paper. I raise my eyebrow at him, silently asking him about the bread. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly: whatever story is behind the bread, he doesn't want to share it with Plutarch.

"Yes. I believe he is healthy enough. We would have to control what sorts of questions would be asked. Anything touching upon Katniss or the Games would need to be left out."

Plutarch sighs deeply. "That may not be good enough, but I suppose we will have to make due. The two of you need to consider what else we can use in the event that this idea does not do the trick. Meanwhile, I will keep working on the singing-show idea. Perhaps I can come up with some way to make it fresh."

"Plutarch, you are the Secretary of Communications. I am sure that whatever programming you put together will be more than sufficient to hold Panem enthralled." Plutarch puffs a bit at the compliment. I hear the threat below his words, though. _We have to find something that makes the country forget its recent losses._

There is an awkward pause in the conversation. Marus takes it as a cue to leave, but Plutarch is not so kind. We talk for a few more minutes, fleshing out the idea of the interview, the party for the exhibition and discussing other interview formats from the other district. Plutarch asks what I know about the whereabouts of the other Victors because he thinks they will particularly resonate with Panem as an audience. I give him the information I know, wondering the whole time whether any of the remaining Victors – Johanna Mason comes to mind – is going to agree with the idea of being interviewed.

-Later—

I hack and slash at another dummy in the Training Center. It will only be another few days before this place is off limits for a while because of the exhibit, so I am taking advantage of it while I can. I find that I sleep better when I can take out my frustrations with some physical exercise before bed. I find it ironic that I can now get the rest I need, but my body won't shut down unless it is exhausted.

I've decided to try archery tonight, since I do not have the focus when Marus is here to try it. I recall Katniss's skill and try to duplicate it with laughable results. I keep trying for thirty minutes, just shutting out every thought but my breathing, my bow, and the target but the results remain tepid. I know why: Marus is late.

He isn't coming.

My disappointment is overwhelming. _What could have kept him?_ We have an unspoken agreement to see each other every night at the Training Center. I briefly wonder if something might have happened to him or if his feelings for me have changed. I thrust both of those thoughts out of my mind because they are too terrible to contemplate.

_I am sure there is an explanation. Just go home. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is another day._

Except I want to see him. We have seen each other every day, even if only for an hour and it relaxes me. I get the feeling that it does the same for Marus. We have not discussed our relationship, nor have we kissed again after 13, but neither of us is in a rush: we have all the time in the world to think through what we are doing. _So why didn't he come to the Training Center tonight?_

By the time I am standing outside his quarters, I feel the exact same trepidation I did in 13. I shake it off this time and knock briskly. My foot taps impatiently for someone to answer the door and all sorts of things run through my head. _Is he injured? Should I have brought guards with me? What if he doesn't want to see me?_ I shake all three thoughts out of my head. I will have answers soon enough.

When he answers the door, my first thought is that he has, indeed been injured. He has white stuff in his hair and on his cheek, his glasses are smudged, and his shirt is half un-tucked and wet in places. He looks disheveled and disoriented.

"Everything ok?" I ask him.

He blinks owlishly. "Brinna! Yes. Oh…Yes. What time is it?" He rubs his face, and I notice he has more white stuff and what looks like chunks of something clinging to his hand.

"It's late. When you didn't come to the Training Center, I worried." _What is that on his hand? Wet paper?_

"Is it that late? I apologize: I got distracted by some work. Why don't you come in? I can show you what I am working on."

Marus's quarters are neat and almost Spartan, despite being a Capitol residence. I see no clutter, no personal effects strewn about, no clothes hanging over chairs. His kitchen, on the other hand, looks like a bomb exploded. That bomb was, evidently, filled with white stuff. On the counter is the bag I spied him holding earlier in the day. On that bag rests a loaf of perfectly formed and baked bread. Two others, much less perfectly formed and about half as high, sit next to it. Marus has been talking almost compulsively since he opened the door.

"Peeta was baking today. It seems to be one of his happy memories, and I thought that I should try and learn more about it, since it seems so core to who he is. After I left your office, I stopped by a bookstore and purchased a book on bread making, bought some ingredients and came back here. I was right back in 13, Brinna. Therapy for him must be a mix of chemistry and hope." His tone is beyond enthusiastic. I realize that I must be seeing the scientist side of Marus. He looks relaxed and in his element, almost happy.

"Marus, that was hours ago. And that still doesn't explain…" I motion to the white stuff that coats every single surface and the chunks of what I presume to be dough caking his hands and counter.

He clears his throat and looks embarrassed, "Yes, well, my first five attempts did not turn out at all. Bread making is quite difficult. I underestimated how much patience is required."

"_Five?_ Exactly how many attempts were there?" _No wonder his kitchen looks like a bomb went off in it._

"Around ten. I lost count. A few burned because I baked them too long. Several did not rise at all. One memorable one overflowed the pan: I had to go out and buy a new pan after that one and I am afraid I almost set off the fire alarm." I don't think I have ever seen Marus look satisfied with himself.

I shake my head. "Ok, let me slow down for a minute here. You have spent the entire day baking and wrecking your apartment. You lost track of time and didn't meet me at the Training Center, but are ok. Is that about the extent of it?"

"Not baking: making a connection with Peeta. This is the best part of Peeta, the part that is most core to him. Doing this helped me to understand not only what works, what he finds comforting, but how his mind works and what he considers important." I stand there, looking lost.

"Brinna, bread is science: ingredients and chemical reactions. I thought it would be easy based on what I saw him do today to replicate his work."

"Like an experiment?"

"Exactly." Marus nods, glad I am making the connection. "But that isn't all bread is: bread is all of that plus a little something more. Perhaps it is art, or perhaps it is hope. Whatever it is, it tells me that Peeta is a highly adaptable, patient, perfectionist with an eye for detail. He must have done what I did today hundreds of times in his life. He must have failed repeatedly. -Did you know that even the humidity of the room must be taken into account for bread to be a success?—All of this tells me that Peeta will continue to beat his hijacking because he has all of these skills. I fully expect him to have complete control of his episodes at some point. Perhaps soon."

That may be the most I have ever heard Marus say; it is certainly the most enthusiastic. "And you learned all of that from those?" I point to the three loaves.

He grins almost wolfishly. "I did. Are you hungry? I was going to slice one and try it." I follow Marus into the ruin of his kitchen because I am hungry. Marus dishes up slices of bread – it appears to be some sort or raisin nut – and I take a bite. It is not as good as Peeta's, it is more crumbly and it lacks a certain flavor that I have gotten used to, but the raisins explode with sweetness and the nuts are chewy, just like they should be. Each bite takes away a little more of my worry that Marus did not want to see me. _He lost track of time, that's all._ My relief makes each bite taste better and better.

When we are both done with our bread, I put my dish in the sink and motion for Marus's as well. He hands me his plate, grabbing a rogue raisin and offering it to me. I don't think anything of it and take it from his hand as I take the dish. We both freeze as I feel his fingers brush my parted lips. I chew and swallow conscious of his eyes on my mouth. I can't help but drop my eyes to his lips as well. We stand, each staring at the other for a few seconds. Marus reaches between us for the plates, places them gently in the sink, and slowly steps toward me, like he is giving me time to refuse him.

My eyes are already shut in expectation by the time his lips meet mine.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

This kiss is even better than our first, flavored with sweetness instead of nightmares. I concentrate on the feel of her lips beneath mine. When I brush the skin of her throat with my hands, I feel her chuckle lightly. I pull away with a question in my eyes.

"You still have dough stuck to your hands." She laughs as she turns my hand over and shows me little bits of stuck on dough. Before I can say anything, she has turned us toward the sink and is washing my hands like I am a schoolboy. At least, I am sure that is her intent.

I feel nothing like a boy when I feel her soapy hands glide against mine. The sensation is warm and wet and skin against skin. I wonder if she can feel the air being sucked from the room as every nerve ending in my hands become supersensitive. _What would it be like to feel her whole body slippery like this?_ I have to back away from thoughts like that about Brinna; I do not want to scare her away. She is nothing like my other relationships, which were limited largely to physical gratification. She is special. I close my eyes, willing the blood pounding through my veins to slow down.

She starts to quietly speak. "I didn't think you wanted to see me tonight. I thought maybe you had changed your mind about…about us. Please…don't just walk away without telling me that your feelings have changed. I would rather know than be left in the dark." She stops moving her hands against mine and the absence of friction coupled with her words tells me that it is my turn to do something.

I grasp her hands in the warmth of the water briefly, and then shut off the water. "Brinna, I could never just walk away from you." I take step toward her in such a way that she is cradled between my body and the sink.

She rubs her wet hand gently against my nose. "You still have flour on your nose."

"Oh? Anywhere else?" I watch her eyes drop to my neck. I cannot imagine I actually have flour there, but I feel her damp hand traces across to that spot and rub. I swallow and drop my eyes to her lips. "Brinna, if I…if I ask you to stay the night, what would you say?"

She laughs her deep, throaty laugh. "I would say that the president can't go sneaking out of some guy's apartment in the morning wearing the same clothes as the day before." There is a big pause as she stares at my lips. "Are you asking?"

"Yes." She wets her lips and forms a silent _oh_. I lean in and kiss her, showing her with my mouth and the pressure of my body how much I want her to stay. I do not believe she will change her mind, but I want her to feel the fierce need I feel for her.

When we come up for air, I hear her breathless, one-word answer like a shock all the way to my toes.

"Soon."

Even after she leaves, the warmth of that one word carries me into dreamless sleep. It is all the promise I need.


	12. Darkness

**I do not own The Hunger Games. **

Chapter 12: Darkness

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I let the hot water jets wash over me and clean away the stress of the day as I stand with my eyes shut. It has been a long day. _A long year, Brinna._ The many layers of reality that co-exist continue to astound me: the Capitol citizens, who seem upset that their perfect lives have been thrust into upheaval and for whom the smallest shortage is a crisis, the Districts, where shortages, violence and death are not even a memory yet, the diplomatic discussions that we are trying to establish as an alternative to the violence, and the public image I am trying to project. The authoritarian, the soldier, the diplomat, the strategist, the competent professional – being all of those things doesn't leave me with a lot of energy to be me.

I am beginning to wonder who that is anymore.

I think back on the conversation I interrupted between Peeta and Plutarch earlier tonight. Peeta had been upset at Plutarch and had indirectly questioned whether the rebellion was worth it. I had jumped in with a statement about how I had to believe that the losses were worth it. _Do I believe that, anymore?_ Part of me does. Part of me thinks of Boggs's son and his wife and knows that life can continue to get better. It can get better for generations who no longer have to think about the Hunger Games. Another part of me, though, is beginning to wonder: the districts have less and less. The Capitol citizens still clamor for more and more. With fewer people in the districts, the ones who work are working almost non-stop both with rebuilding and supplying the Capitol and other districts with necessary items.

In other words, life has gotten harder, not easier for the people who are left.

My thoughts go back to Peeta and Plutarch. I had tried to let Peeta know that we are all making sacrifices to get Panem back on track. In a lot of ways, we are still fighting this war. The role of the Mocking jay is still needed. I understand, perhaps more than most, how he feels about losing bits and pieces of himself to the rebellion. I can't claim to know everything Peeta has been through, but I can begin to understand how it feels to lose yourself in the shadow of a larger cause. I just hope that I can keep Plutarch from taking everything that Peeta is while the war wages on.

I get out of the shower and dry myself off, wiping the condensation off of the bathroom mirror. I stare at myself, noticing the dark circles that have taken up permanent residence under my eyes. Although I am not as thin as I was in my District, and my skin sees more sunlight, I still look sallow. _I look like my Mother._ I close my eyes and think of her tired eyes and her stooped shoulders, the feel of her calloused hands when she touched my face. _Was there ever a day where she was happy and not just exhausted? _I touch the face in the mirror and wish I could have her with me now, giving me advice. She always knew exactly the right thing to say to help snap things back into perspective.

It's odd: I've been tired most of my life. First, working in the factory and going to school, then working two jobs kept me so physically exhausted that I was often too tired to eat. Every day was the same, progressing in a never-ending chain of numb complacency. The rebellion changed all that for me. The very possibilities that exist are the things that exhaust me now. The fact that I can get one or two things wrong and change the course of the future for everyone paralyzes me. It tires me out much more than the physical exhaustion I felt before.

Peeta instigated the idea of a prep team to get me ready for the exhibit and interviews that will take place in a week. I'm a little taken aback by how much I want a prep team day - an entire day where I do nothing but have other people make me beautiful - now that I have gotten used to the idea. It sounds odd even to me, but I want that little break from reality; I want to be something different than this tired person whose thoughts are spent on budgets and districts and overwhelming fear of failure.

I put on my pajamas and slide into bed, thinking of Marus and my promise to him that we will spend the night together soon. Although I want to, I can't seem to put a plan in motion that makes it happen. It should be as simple as getting a bag together and having someone deliver it to his quarters, but I can't seem to make myself do it. I don't feel confident enough or attractive enough to plan a night together. Despite how amazing I feel when I am with him, spontaneity is what has gotten us this far. I find myself wishing that Marus were the sort who would just take control and sweep me away. The thought of him sweeping me off my feet leaves me with a smile and I can almost imagine him next to me in bed, holding me as we both go to sleep.

_I am running, chasing shadowy figures in the distance. I am calling out to them to wait for me, but they keep running, never letting me catch up. Just when I finally believe I am gaining ground, the figures disappear and I find myself in a broad clearing. In the center is a golden cornucopia. Around it are bodies: some are young children, some are my students, some are families from my district and some are rebellion friends. I walk through the carnage, looking for signs of life. When I come to Boggs, who is lying close to the cornucopia, I stop. When I bend down to take his pulse, knowing that he cannot be alive with both his legs blown off, he grabs my hands tightly. _

"_Save them." Boggs says, his breath gasping and rattling wetly as he speaks. _

"_Boggs, who? Save who? Let me help you." I try to pull my hands away so I can use them to staunch the flow of blood. He holds on tightly, shaking his head._

"_Don't let Coin…"_

_His words are drowned out by the sound of strange growling. I strain to see what is making the noise, but can only make out dark shapes coming toward me. Whatever those shapes are doing, they are obliterating all of the bodies in their path and their growling is getting louder. _

"_Boggs, we've got to move." I turn back to him, prepared to carry him to safety. Except Boggs is no longer holding my hand, lying in a pool of blood. Instead, I am holding Marus's hand. I am so shocked at the sight of his almost bloodless face that I cannot move. It isn't until I hear the growling draw dangerously close that I act. _

_I grab Marus's shoulders and half-lift, half-drag him to the cornucopia. I can hear whatever is growling trailing right on our heels as we make it to the structure. I try to lift Marus up, but the sides of the cornucopia are too slippery and I lack the strength to hoist him. I try propping him up on the side, and climbing myself, then pulling him up. Just as I finally have a firm hand-hold and begin lifting him, I feel his hands, begin to slip from mine. I scramble to hold onto him through the slippery blood and gore that coats us both. Just when I think I might be successful in hanging on, I feel something grab him and jerk him back toward the ground. He screams horribly, as whatever it is seizes hold of him and envelopes him in darkness. _

_He is lost to me. _

_I can feel my heart pounding, my own scream caught in my throat, my hands reaching and grasping air. I stand on top of the cornucopia, listening to growling and watching darkness spread all around me. I wait for it to take me as tears stream down my face._

_The growling stops. In the distance I see a light getting brighter. I strain to make out two figures in the light when they suddenly come into focus: Peeta and Katniss. I realize I am no longer standing on the Cornucopia, but standing on the balcony at the president's mansion. In the second it takes me to realize who and where we are, to call out to them, I see Peeta point at me. I wave frantically at them both, relieved to see them and trying to draw their attention. In the next second, Katniss nocks an arrow, and releases it. _

_I feel the stabbing pain straight through my heart._

I jolt awake, rubbing my chest reflexively. _Marus!_ I want to scream his name. _Is he alright?_ I can feel my heart pounding as I rub; I swear that it feels sore where the arrow penetrated. The darkness, the horrible growling, Boggs…what did he mean? _Save who?_

**(A/N: I have two new followers on this story. YAY! If you have read Moving On, I promised that I would post something of a reading order of the two stories, since they actually dovetail in some scenes. Feel free to post reviews or PM me with questions if you have them. - the order is posted on my profile.)**


	13. Meeting Tigris

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 13: Meeting Tigris

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

Tigris completely takes me aback, both in her cat-like appearance and behavior and in her quiet demeanor. I had assumed she would flamboyant, given that she is a stylist, but she is quiet and reserved. I am not sure how I should greet her, so I simply stand and invite her into my office and offer her refreshments when she arrives. She declines, stealthily prowling into the room. She stops and we stare at each other uncomfortably.

"Thank you for agreeing to do this for us on such short notice." By "us", I mean Peeta and Plutarch and I.

"I am happy to help." Tigris says is her growly-purr. I notice her tail is twitching, though, like she is annoyed.

"So how do we do this? Do you need to measure me?" I have no idea what exactly a stylist does, or how I can help make this process easier. She motions for me to come closer to her presumably so she can assess how I look. She motions for me to twirl around, so I do that as well. Her tail continues to twitch.

"Tell me about…." She motions to my blue suit and creamy blouse, my typical uniform since becoming president.

I think back to Peeta and Plutarch making fun of my outfit when the idea of a stylist was first broached. _Why does everyone pick on my suits? _"This is similar to what I wore when I taught in my district. I think it conveys a sense of practical professionalism: it's comfortable and it has pockets. I can wear these shoes all day and they are still comfortable. I can even run in them if I need to." I motion to my low heels. Tigris's tail continues to twitch, conveying a sense of disapproval. I can almost hear her say, "You aren't a teacher anymore, you're the president."

I sigh quietly. It's going to be a long afternoon.

Tigris's tail stopped twitching once while she took measurements. I had just slipped out of my blouse and skirt and turned to face her. I saw her eyes slide to my neck and then down my torso, then back up to my face. Her eyebrow arched in question.

"I was injured during the fighting in 8." Tigris waits quietly. I point at my neck and a smattering of scars across one shoulder. "I sustained these from bleach burns and had 2 cracked ribs." Still, Tigris is silent. It is not normally in me to discuss this, my part in the war, and I am sure my discomfort shows. The silence spins out as she measures most of my body. I realize she is still waiting for me to continue my story. I can almost hear Plutarch in my head, telling me that I should tell her more about myself so she can help me make the right impression. I feel so exposed standing in front of her that I don't know where to begin.

"A few of my students were passing notes in class. I intercepted the notes and made them stay after to discuss. Of course, I had heard the rumors of the rebellion but had discounted them as unhappy rumblings rather than having a basis in reality. They were pretty convinced that something was actually happening and that they wanted to join in the fighting. They were impossible to dissuade and so very self-assured." I shake my head at the memory._ They didn't stand a chance. _Tigris has stopped taking measurements and just sits, listening.

"I'm not sure what happened – maybe they were not circumspect enough. When they were shot for being traitors at the end of that week, I went into shock. Some of my students took it upon themselves to work their planning into "group projects" that they took to discussing in class. They were very smart about it – everything was a very hypothetical analysis of how the Capitol defeated the districts during the Dark Days. We talked supply chain, logistics and discussed what best to use as arms. We coordinated safe housing for families. The night of the attacks, we got as many to safety as we could and defended them when the Peacekeepers came. We only lost a few families." My voice cracks on the last word and I continue in a soft voice filled with anguish, "You can't possibly understand the futility of trying to protect that many children, knowing that, no matter how good a job you do, at least some of them are probably going to die."

I don't know how to explain that I sometimes still smell the blood and see the bodies of the women and children that were killed. It was like watching the Games, if the Games had no age limit, took place in our own homes and were fought with rulers, pencils, and whatever supplies we could steal from Chemistry class and the factory.

"I was a stylist for the Games. I understand preparing children to meet their almost certain deaths." Tigris meets my eyes and we share a moment of solidarity and of sadness.

The rest of the measuring session is quiet, each of us lost in her own thoughts. I am relieved when I can slide my jacket back on my shoulders after being measured and assessed. I had no idea that meeting with Tigris would be this exhausting or that I would feel like Tigris was measuring more than my physical size. I try to lighten the mood and say, "Stay for tea? Peeta makes amazing cookies."

I can see on her face that she is ready to decline when a knock on the door signals the arrival of the tea tray and startles us both. I am even more startled that Marus is the person who carries it.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I carry the tray into the room, happy to see Brinna. "I hope that you do not mind the intrusion. I just finished my session with Peeta when your assistant came in to the kitchen to prepare the tray. Since I wanted to see you anyway, I thought I would save her the trip." I put the tray down on a low table and reach out to shake hands with the person I assume is Tigris. "You must be Tigris – Peeta has told me a great deal about you. I am Dr. Marus Aurelius." We all stand awkwardly for a minute when I realize I forgot something. "I almost forgot! Peeta said that if you were staying for tea that you might prefer this to cookies." I reach into my pocket and hand Tigris a can of salmon.

I see the ghost of a smile play around Tigris's whiskers as she takes the can from me and growls, "I believe I will stay."

I pour as I quiz them both about their own session. I have to admit that I am curious as to what a stylist does. Brinna explains with infrequent growls interjected by Tigris and I end up with a fair picture of what occurred this afternoon. I can see by the exhaustion on Brinna's face that she must be leaving something out of her description. As my eyes linger on Brinna's face, taking in the circles under her eyes, the puffiness of her eyelids and the rigidity of her shoulders, I notice Tigris watching me. When I turn my head to meet her eyes fully, her whiskers twitch and her eyes crinkle in what may be an actual smile. _She knows that I am interested in Brinna. _The thought fills me with a strange sense of relief.

I do not have to hide how I feel. Brinna has not asked it of me, but my old habits under Alma Coin have meant that I feel the need to be strangely secretive about my growing feelings for Brinna. Tigris's look is a reminder that Brinna and I are both consenting adults and there is no need to hide that we are together. We are finally free. I find myself smiling back at her.

"Marus, how was your day?" Brinna asks as she offers me another cookie.

I come back to reality with a jolt: the news I have to share is not good. "Peeta is going back to District 12."

Brinna's face registers shock bordering on panic. "What? When? What about the exhibit?" I hold up my hand to stop her.

"He said that he will go after the exhibit. He will not run out of us before then unless absolutely required."

"Why? What's going on?"

I do not really know how to tell her my news. I gingerly place my tea cup down on the table and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Brinna, Peeta talked to Haymitch. Haymitch has asked that Peeta go to 12, now, if he wants to have closure with Katniss."

Brinna asks, "Closure?"

I confirm the statement, "Closure. Haymitch has indicated that Katniss may be dying." I watch Brinna's eyes go wide and Tigris's tail begins to twitch.

"_What?_ That's impossible. After everything she has been through, she can't just die now." Brinna is incredulous.

I say calmly, "I have confirmed her condition. She is borderline catatonic, much like she was when she was incarcerated during her trial."

Brinna begins to pace. "The Mockingjay cannot just die. We've got to do something."

Tigris growls, "No one has ever known what to do with her."

I shake my head at them both, I watch Brinna pace. "Brinna, she has lost all hope. "

She meets my eyes with steely determination. "Then we give it back to her."

"It is not that simple. The Capitol does not own her, Brinna. If she wants to give up, what are we going to do? Send Plutarch? Send me with some court appointed-mandatory hope training? You cannot order someone to have hope. If she wants to give up, shouldn't we respect her choice?"

"You think I want her to live because I am the President and it would be inconvenient for us to lose her now? I'll admit this would not be opportune timing. But that is not what is driving me: I will not lose another child to this war, _especially not Katniss Everdeen. _She survived two reapings and a rebellion. Whatever is in her way, we will get her through it. You have my complete authorization to get Peeta anything he asks for."

I shake my head. I know Brinna well enough not to argue with her.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

When Marus quietly leaves, I stand by my desk shaking and shut my eyes. _Save them. _ I can still hear Boggs in my dream. I am not sure if I am right in my interpretation, but I know I cannot let another child die for this war. For it to be Katniss, when Boggs and I had a pact to protect her and she has already sacrificed so much, is untenable. I hear a sound and snap open my eyes to find Tigris standing in front of me.

"He cares about you." Tigris rasps. I nod. _What else is there to say? _I dislike fighting with Marus. The thought of just letting her go, though, is too much for me.

"Do you think that I am trying to manipulate her for the wrong reasons? Is this how Snow started? Wanting to manipulate things for the right reasons, only to end up where he controlled everything for the wrong ones?" Tigris is quiet for a moment, and then I hear a sound – like a rusty laugh – come from her throat.

"I take it that is a no." I smile at her and she smiles back. "Do you think I am out of line?" Tigris shakes her head.

"Snow had no good motives." Tigris says in her strange voice. I sigh heavily.

"Tigris, I need you to do something for me, something that no one can know about." I watch her face for her nod, and then I pull the Mockingjay pin out of my pocket. Tigris's eyes get wide and her whiskers twitch. "Pockets are handy, remember?" I smile a little wider at her, and then snap back to the topic at hand. "I need a copy of the original Mockingjay pin made before the exhibit. It has to be an exact replica, right down to the patina. Can you do that for me?"

She nods, eying the pin as I hand it to her. She waits for a moment, flipping it over in her hand, examining it. She growls softly, "mockingjays made a mockery of the Capitol."

"Not this Capitol." She meets my eyes.

"Do you know the story of the jabberyjays?" Tigris stares at me like she is expecting me to understand.

"Yes. The jabberjays stayed in the wild and mated with mockingbird females, since there were no female jabberjays. Their offspring survive even now." _What is she getting at?_

Tigris fumbles in her bag for a moment and pulls out a piece of paper, which she hands to me. It is a drawing of Peeta – a self-portrait of him painting. I arch my eyebrow at her and she points down to the picture again. "The Mockingjay needs a mate of her own."

"…_Peeta?_ You think that Katniss and Peeta will actually fall in love?" I think back to Peeta's reaction to Katniss's painting in Snow's bedroom and know that it might happen for him. Katniss, however, is another story.

Tigris nods, her eyes shining with something that I think may be hope. "I saw them in the Capitol before the Capitol Center."

I look down at the picture in my hand again and fervently hope that Tigris is right for both Katniss's and Peeta's sakes. If she is right, Peeta can save her and Katniss can make Peeta's dreams come true – because mockingjays mate for life.


	14. A Visit to District 2

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 14: A Visit to District 2

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

"Who will be briefing me on District 2 events?" I have just left my hovercraft after making an emergency trip to District 2. Fighting has erupted in the area, and I refuse to send in troops without first trying to come to some sort of accord.

One of the presidential guards introduces me to a man in a rebel uniform. "President, this is Commander Roe." I nod in acknowledgement at the young man standing before me. He does not appear to be older than his early twenties, with close-cropped brown hair and blue eyes.

"Commander, tell me about what has happened here?"

He clears his throat nervously, "A group of former peacekeepers have holed-up in one of our small villages. They have ammunition and we think they may have hostages. They have been in there for three days."

"Are the hostages District 2 citizens? And is anyone on the inside injured?" _Families?_

A voice chimes in from behind me, "Yes to both. We believe that some of the civilian hostages may be injured." I turn to face the newcomer and recognize Gale Hawthorne. Gale was a familiar face in District 13, and is legendary in the rebellion for single-handedly saving his home District of 12. He also kept the Mockingjay safe during the Capitol Center mission. He is now the Assistant Director of Special Weaponry for Panem.

"Good to see you, Gale." I shake his hand. "What do you know about this?" I motion my hand to the activity in the Command Center setup several blocks from the hostage location.

"A bunch of former peacekeepers shut down access to one of the villages here in 2." Gale lays a map out on a table. He points to a location not too far from what the rebels called 'The Nut' during the actual battle of District 2. "…here. They have locked down the perimeter and appear to be holding about 30 people hostage in this location." He points to a school. "They have water, food, ammunition."

"What do they want?" I ask. My stomach shakes at the thought of as many as seven families being held in terror.

Commander Roe chimes in, "We stripped the former peacekeepers of any power when the war ended. We think they want to be granted their former positions back. "

"What is our next course of action?" I look from one man to the other.

"We infiltrate and then we annihilate." Gale points back to the map. "We will send in soldiers under the guise of negotiations. One of them will plant an explosive in the densest area of concentration. When the explosive detonates, we can pick off any survivors in the ensuing chaos. It's the best way to ensure that no one tries something like this again." I stare at Gale blankly for a few seconds, letting his words sink in; I had forgotten how severe some of his methods could be. _The current population of District 12 is fewer than thirty people. _I am not sure if Gale realizes this when he calmly discusses the deaths of these people. I briefly think about my dream and Boggs. _Save them._ The plan before me saves no one. "Commander Roe, you said there might be families in there." He nods. "Then I will not authorize explosives until we have ruled out other methods. If can negotiate a peaceful resolution, great. If we need to issue a kill order on a target, we can do that too. I want explosives only as a last resort." I see a muscle jump in Gale's jaw.

Gale rolls up the map angrily. I stop his departure by laying a hand on his arm. "Assistant Director Hawthorne, you continue to serve the new government with amazing dedication and ideas. I really appreciate it." I hope that the recognition lessens the sting of me countermanding his orders.

-Later—

Gale and I are seated in the Command Center listening through microphone and video feeds while the unit we have deployed moves through the quiet streets, approaching the barricaded entrance to the township. Commander Roe leads the unit and will act as a negotiator, and it also includes two soldier/medical personnel and two moresoldiers bearing food and water. A film duo brings up the rear. I can see sweat on the Commander's neck when he reaches the barricade. It is not lost on any of us that we are sitting ducks if someone wants to take a shot.

"Who's there?" A voice calls out. The voice sounds nervous and young, which is not a good combination to hear with lives on the line.

Commander Roe speaks, "We are Panems's hostage response team, deployed here by the authority of President Paylor. I have a team with me including medical, some supplies and a camera crew. We would like to come inside and talk." We hear squeaking as the barricade begins to move. We all exchange looks in the Command Center, knowing that the next few moments will determine the tenor of the whole meeting – they could easily pick us off one at a time as we pass through the barricade. We arrange ourselves in a better order: Supplies first, then cameras, then Commander Roe.

As we are waiting for the path to widen for passage, Gale reiterates to Commander Roe, "Don't forget: you get into trouble and we believe that a target needs to be hit, we will use the phrase 'certain death'. If we want to use our other option, we will say 'last resort'." I watch and listen as Commander Roe whispers the phrases back and pats a hidden pocket on his body armor where the explosive charges are hidden.

I hope it won't come to that.

The team walks beyond the barricade. A teenage escort leads us down a street to the school. I see Commander Roe surreptitiously scanning the sides of the street for snipers or other threats, but there do not appear to be any. I feel my palms begin to sweat as if I am on the mission myself. _This is important, Brinna. Diffuse the situation. If there really are thirty people involved, we need to save as many as we can._ We see a heightened presence of guards outside the school. I also spy signs of normal life – a laundry tub with water still in it, smoke from a cooking fire, a ball left right next to the school entrance.

The school itself is a two-story edifice of imposing stonework, intricately and lovingly wrought. Above the door I see the seal for District 2 carved into the stone with the words _Honor and Sacrifice_ placed right below it.I wonder exactly what sort of explosives Gale believes will bring the stone structure down. My eyes move forward with the camera as the team walks through the door and down a hallway to the cafeteria where sounds of life are rampant.

The cafeteria seems to be some sort of all-purpose room: there are cots stacked off to one side, tables for eating or congregating, a kitchen for food preparation. There are families almost everywhere in the room. Some are laughing, some seem to be engaged in quieter activities, but no one seems to be held here against their will. _These are hostages? _ Something about the situation seems off and I glance at Commander Roe to see if he senses it also. _What is going on here? _The group stands in the cafeteria for a moment before a very tall, blonde woman strides over to the group.

She addresses the teenager, "Kreg, thank you. I'll take it from here." She gives him a sign of affection that is somewhere between a hug and a back-thump before pushing him toward the kitchen. I see her follow him through the door with her eyes before she turns back to face the group and it dawns on me that Kreg is her son. She is waiting for him to be out of the potential line of fire. I breathe deeply and wait for her to approach Commander Roe. We have made the first move in coming here. We want to make no move that may be misconstrued and lead to bloodshed. "My name is Lilya." She takes another step toward Commander Roe and holds out her hand in greeting.

He takes the hand she offers. "I am Commander Roe. Thank for you giving us a chance to talk. We have brought some additional supplies. Also, is anyone hurt? Two of my men are Medics." He motion for the supplies to be brought forward.

"Thank you. We do have some minor injuries. I will call someone to escort your men." The escort comes and the Medics leave. Others come to help distribute the supplies and the cameramen stop to film it, effectively leaving Commander Roe and Lilya alone. I hope that Commander Roe lets her fill the silence when she is ready. We listen to the static coming through his personal microphone and camera for a moment.

Commander Roe jumps in, "So what happened here, Lilya?" I can't help but roll my eyes a bit at his youth and enthusiasm and I almost laugh grimly when I see Lilya do something similar. I estimate she is ten years older than me, probably six inches taller judging by how she is eye to eye with Commander Roe. It is not just her statuesque form that I find intimidating, though. Her obvious life experience and confidence could determine the outcome of our negotiation attempts. She takes Commander Roe's arm and leads him to a cafeteria table.

"Do you have children, Roe?" The title of Commander is noticeably absent when she addresses him. I glance at Gale to see if he has picked up on that fact, but he seems to be measuring air shafts or something on the map.

"No." Commander Roe is wearing his most earnest and open expression. I think he may even be trying a bit too hard.

"Then why fight for the rebellion? You're too old to be reaped. " She leans in toward him, reading his eyes.

I kick Gale's foot under the table to get his attention. I motion to the camera and shake my head, showing my discomfort with the events that are unfolding. He stares at me, then calmly watches the screen.

"I fought so we could have a better tomorrow. The new government of Panem is going to give us that: a future of our own making." Commander Roe sounds very sincere. I shake my head when Lilya's laughter rings out loudly. _Wrong answer, Commander._ I hear Gale calmly talking to other members of the team that they need to be on the alert and begin re-grouping whenever possible. I also notice that most of the hostages have stopped and are now fixated on the conversation between the Commander and Lilya.

"You think the new government is going to give you a better tomorrow? Better than what? You think that the government won't take your life away? Take away your happiness? Make decisions for you? Here's news for you, Roe: of course it will. That's what governments do. My Grandparents used to tell stories from before the Dark Days: tales of back breaking stonework, heavy lifting, exhausting hours. My Grandpa used to tell me to do the best work we can and hope to be honored for it. That's all there is. Leaders don't make it easier. Leaders break our hearts: first through work and then through whatever else they take from us."

She seems to be warming to her topic now, clearly surrounded by a sympathetic audience. We are outnumbered and presumably outgunned. _Although she didn't take our guns from us. What does that mean?_

"You want to know what happened here? Kreg's father fought against the rebellion. He told me that he wanted to honor his government. I told him to honor his family and stay with us, but he didn't. He was killed. I was a peacekeeper. When the fighting stopped, I was stripped of my post because I was not part of the new leadership and was a suspected traitor. All of us have similar stories – our options have been taken one by one until we are left with nothing but the privilege of dying together rather than fading away."

Commander Roe, to his credit, seizes the opportunity. "What if we relocate all of you? We need strong people to help rebuild Panem and could use your help. There is honor in that."

Lilya scoffs at him, throwing her hands up. "Empty promises and deal-making: a government of honor would take care of its people and afford them dignity. What has our new government given us?"

Her words echo in the cafeteria, followed by moments of deafening silence. Commander Roe has nothing to counter with – our government and the rebuilding effort are too new for most citizens to feel a benefit yet. My heart will probably sting later when I have time replay her words in private. For now, I motion for Gale to mute his comm link. "She didn't take their weapons."

"What?" He asks incredulously.

"They still have their weapons." I point to Commander Roe and the team. "She didn't confiscate them." Gale and I both turn to face the screen. I notice his face has a hardened expression: he knows something. He begins talking to Commander Roe just as a child – maybe three or four years old– is escorted into the cafeteria. She is blonde like Lilya and is crying and clutching a pink blanket with flowers on it.

"Have you ever seen a child starve to death, _Commander_ Roe?" Lilya demands, sneering when she says it. I hear Gale talking to the team through his comm link. His tone is insistent.

Commander Roe shakes his head even has I find myself nodding. _How could he not have seen a child starve? _The only places where that might even be possible are the career districts, 13 and the Capitol. _Please tell me that we did not send someone from the Capitol in to negotiate this…_

"This child, _my child_, is starving_. _If you don't know what that is like, let me tell you: it is worse than any Reaping. At least with a Reaping there is a chance to survive." Lilya holds the crying child and begins to rock her, tears forming on her own face. "We scrounged. We sold all we could, but there was practically no one to buy from us. We are traitors, after all. Kreg and I gave her our portions. Finally, we all agreed to pool our resources until there was nothing left. When we got to that point, we would take care of it so that we could all die with the dignity that was taken from us."Lilya stands the child back on her feet and gently wipes her tears away. I see her lean in close to the child and whisper something in her ear. I see the child smile back at her mother.

I watch as in slow motion I see Lilya stand and pull a weapon. My eyes do not stray from Lilya's gun, pointed at her daughter. _Save them, _I hear Boggs say in my head. I watch the determined set of her jaw, see her arm muscles tense. I grab the comm link from Gale and yell "certain death" into it. I brace myself for the shot when a blur knocks her arm away, sending the shot wide and knocking her to the ground. Chaos breaks out in the room as more shots are fired.

Much later, I stand in the cafeteria with Gale, assessing the damage. Three of our own injured, Commander Roe among them. Of the twenty eight citizens, only 4 were hit with gunfire: Kreg, Lilya, her daughter, and another citizen. Lilya's son was hit several times as he tried to protect his sister. The family is expected to survive, although each of them will have their own scars.

"It was a suicide mission. They wanted to lure us in to kill them, which is why they didn't disarm us." Gale shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair.

"I want to talk to them." I say as I walk over to the pink blanket on the floor and pick it up.

"Who?" Gale says tiredly.

"The survivors."

"Do you think that is a smart thing to do?"

"It has to be smarter than the decision that led us all here." I say.

As I ride the hovercraft back to the Capitol, I think back to my conversation with the families. Several families have elected to relocate to other districts. Only one family elected to change their name and start over fresh. Lilya's family is being treated in District 2 but will be remanded to the custody of the Capitol. I am not sure yet what to do with them. _Save them,_ I hear in my head. I want to tell Boggs that I wish it could be that easy. I wish I could save every family.

I gave Gale the blanket and asked him to wash it and return it to Lilya's daughter. He had looked at me like I had two heads, but I believe he will do what his President asks of him. I also asked him to give my best wishes for a speedy recovery to Commander Roe. I will need to make some sort of special order of valor and present it to him once he is recovered.

I close my eyes, wanting nothing more than a hot bath and some sleep. My thoughts drift to Marus for the first time today and I wonder what his day was like. _Did he miss me? Did he think about me? _Even more than a bath or sleep, I need to see him and feel his quiet strength surrounding me. I wonder if it will help me forget the desperation on Lilya's face when she raised her weapon on her daughter or the panic on Kreg's face during the same moment.

"President, landing in five minutes." I nod with my eyes still shut. They are still shut five minutes later when I feel the shudder of the hovercraft land and hear the guards disembark. I hear a guard return, presumably to check on me. When I open my eyes, though, Marus is standing in front of me. I don't question why he would meet my hovercraft in the middle of the night. I do not think about the less than ideal circumstances of our last parting. I only know that the sight of him fills me with relief and comfort. He wordlessly helps me remove my harness and gather my things. I stretch, straighten my suit, and slowly begin to make my way off of the craft. I feel a million years old, but I concentrate on the warmth of his hand on the small of my back.

**(A/N: I apologize if this story keeps getting heavier and heavier. I feel like the middle story – with Building the Dream is – has to be somewhat dark in order to have the third installment really show an arc. If you have feedback for me, please do not hesitate to review or PM. That being said, Marus and Brinna fluff is coming soon!)**


	15. Solace

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 15: Solace

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

The sound of Brinna's approaching hovercraft has me releasing a huge sigh of relief. I cannot wait to see her and confirm for myself that she is fine. I am most fortunate that her guards do not question my presence at her landing area and I attribute their lack of interest in me to the fact that I have become a frequent visitor to the mansion. I imagine that she will be surprised to see me, especially given the lateness of the hour. I wonder grimly why all of our encounters occur in the middle of the night. 

When I had heard that Brinna was headed to District 2, my thoughts formed the worst possible outcomes. _What would I do if I lost her? _ I had gathered a few apples and sugar cubes and headed to the quietest place in the Capitol. Maximus was happy to see me. He was especially happy about the contents of my pockets. While he munched contentedly, I told him all of my fears about Brinna's trip.

The staff departing from the hovercraft dwindles but Brinna has not yet made an appearance. One of Brinna's young guards spots me and tells me that she is still on board. I smile my thanks at the young man. When a few more minutes pass and Brinna still does not materialize, I walk into the hovercraft to look for her. When I find her, she might be asleep, leaning back in her seat with her face a blank mask behind shut eyes. She looks exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes pronounced. The only giveaway that she is awake is the odd hitch to her breathing once in a while that must denote a particularly tender memory. I wonder what she is seeing in her head.

She and I disembark from the hovercraft in silence. I am unable to tell if she even realizes I am here with her, let alone determine if she wants my company. I get a clearer idea of her mental state during the car ride back to the mansion. Brinna, whose head is resting on my shoulder, sits up and tells the driver in a strong and insistent voice that she wants to go to my residence instead. She does not look toward me and neither her team nor I object. She resumes resting her head on my shoulder and the rest of the trip occurs in silence.

I let us into my quarters, leaving the lights off as I usually do. Growing up as I did in District 13, electricity was not something to be squandered and there is plenty of light from the Capitol streetlights streaming through the curtains. I stride over to the sink, pour two glasses of water, cross to Brinna and wordlessly hand her one. I watch her as she takes tiny sips of her water, looking fragile in the soft lighting. When she has drained the glass, I take it from her and deposit it into the sink. I ask quietly, "What's next?" I do not want to read too much into her presence here alone with me tonight.

"Bed." Brinna says. My body gives a start at that one word. _Stop that._ I give it a sound scolding because I see nothing but exhaustion on her face.

"Go ahead and use the restroom to change." I say, as I motion to a door at the end of the hallway. "Do you need clothes or a toothbrush or anything? Towels are underneath the sink." I am not sure what her nightly rituals are, but a vague recollection of other women makes me think that I will take less time with my regimen. Brinna nods, picks up her bag and shuts the door to the restroom with a click.

While I wait for her, I take off my jacket, shoes, and socks and put them away. I find my own nightclothes, adding a shirt to my usual sleeping pants in deference to Brinna. I turn the edge of the blankets down on the bed in what I hope is an inviting way and wait silently in the dark. Sometime later, the door at the end of the hallway opens and we wordlessly switch places. I make short work of my usual routine. Despite my rushing through the sequence, I find Brinna tucked into bed and asleep when I come out of the restroom. I stop a moment, just watching her in the dim light, hardly believing that she is in my bed and not some dream.

I carefully slide into bed beside her and reach an arm around her to bring her closer to me, taking a breath of her soapy scent. I feel the tension drain out of me. Placing a soft and lingering kiss on her shoulder, which peeks out from her nightclothes, I close my eyes and give myself over to oblivion.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I can't be certain of what awakens me: perhaps it is the warmth of the unfamiliar bed, the light coming in the shaded windows that tell me it is later than I normally sleep, the snoring of the man next to me, or the fingers resting heavily on the bare skin of my hip below my pajama bottoms. _I can't believe he snores, _I think to myself as I yawn and my body immediately resets itself from _asleep_ to _awake_. I notice that his hand on my shifting skin is warm, the pads of his fingers pressing just a little harder than the palm every once in a while. It almost seems as if he is dreaming of something that makes him cling. His breath whispers across the back of my neck with each exhale, sending shivers down my spine. Nerve endings, long forgotten, begin to sing in response to the male body lying next to mine. I want to burrow into these sensations, disappear in them and escape the world for a little while longer. They are more pleasant that any of the dreams I recall and make me feel safer. I realize that this is the reason I wanted to come here last night: only Marus can help make me feel like the world is normal and like I matter within it.

I lift his hand off of my hip and ease around to face him. I slowly replace his hand on my other hip, and press his fingertips against my skin.

I watch him. He continues to snore on each inhale. The lines on his forehead are gone and his whole face seems lighter, younger and less intense. I resist the urge to kiss the spot where his pulse beats a strong, slow beat at the base of his neck. As I watch that spot, I feel my own pulse begin to match its heavy, solid cadence and am transfixed by the play of light on the hollow of his throat. I am so fixated on that pulse point – imagining the smell and taste of his skin in that one spot – that I do not see his eyelids flutter, signaling his return to wakefulness.

I yelp in surprise when I feel the sudden shift in his grip a moment before Marus maneuvers me from his side to sprawling across his chest. I can feel the rumbling of his laughter at my surprise. My eyes narrow and I retaliate by dipping my head and kissing that spot that had me distracted in the first place. He smells of soap and tastes just as I imagined _soapy and salty_ and I do not stop even after I feel the vibrations of laughter from his chest stop. I hear him groan my name as I kiss and nibble my way up his throat to his ear.

"Brinna…" his raspy morning voice thrills me.

I nuzzle his earlobe, and then bite it gently, reveling in his sharp intake of breath.

"Yes?" I purr into his ear, innocently.

There is a short pause, then Marus rolls me over onto my back, grabs my roaming hands by the wrists and holds them above my head. With his other arm, he is graciously keeping some of his weight off of me. He studies me with quiet intensity.

"Are you alright?" Marus asks in a gravelly morning voice, stalling my idea to run by foot up his calf. His concerned gaze makes me gather my jumbled thoughts and attempt to put a coherent together. I haltingly nod. "Are you certain? Because I do not want you to do something you might regret."

I know what he is asking and the last of the playfulness that bubbles within me fizzles out. The passion that was hiding behind it, however, remains. I take a deep breath, loving that his pupils dilate when I do, loving the feel of his body pressing mine into the mattress. I strain my wrists against the hand that binds them and he releases me. I immediately cup his face gently. "I will not regret this. I want you, Marus." I slowly run my foot up his calf and higher. Just as I lean in to kiss him, I wrap my leg around his waist in a clear invitation.

Afterward, we both catch our breath while Marus draws circles on my stomach. "Your pajamas have cats on them." He sounds completely flabbergasted. I chuckle, thinking of the pink and black cat pajamas that are now lying on the floor.

"You snore." I snort at his disbelief. "No, really, you do. I think that's what woke me up." He laughs. He moves his trailing hand up to my shoulder, where the scarss that are normally hidden dot my skin. He touches them reverently, absently leaning down to kiss them. I look over at him, my eyes holding his blue-green gaze.

"Why did you stay in the Capitol?" I blurt it out, as though the thought of him leaving has suddenly occurred to me.

"My patients are here." He answers cautiously.

"You could have left at any time. You know you can do your sessions via phone. Do you wish you could go back?" I'm not sure if I mean back in time or back to 13.

He takes a moment to answer, eyes focusing far away. "There is still good work to be done here. I have felt that since the Capitol Center. First there was the work, then there was the realization that there is a whole world beyond District 13. Then there was you. No. I do not wish I could go back." We are silent for a minute before he returns his eyes to mine.

I drop a kiss on his chest and feel his arm tighten around me. Another minute passes with us both lost in our own thoughts. He finally says, "What happened in District 2? There was no televised information."

I sigh, not wanting to think about it. "It was a mercy-killing. A group in 2 decided that that dying was better than trying to live with few resources. They thought that the government would take umbrage with that and help to end it all for them." I stop talking, remembering the little girl and choosing my next words with care. "It was awful. I wonder how many other people believe Panem has forsaken them. I knew it would take patience to rebuild. I just assumed that the people in the districts would give it to us. Maybe Plutarch's interview idea – showing progress that's been made – isn't so crazy."

"Do you think he is correct about the districts needing a distraction?" I know that Marus is asking me if I am reconsidering another Hunger Games. I am not but I understand Plutarch's stance much better now. I shake my head and lay down on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, listening for the steady sound of his breathing.

I let my thoughts drift to how content I feel and how remarkably comfortable Marus is in his own skin. I have seen glimpses of it during our nights in the Training Center, but I am still surprised his lack of self-consciousness. It brings a memory to the surface, me at his door in 13, staring at the skin revealed by his partially unbuttoned shirt. I prop myself up on one arm and look down at him. "You don't normally wear a shirt to bed." It's a statement. "Why did you… wait…what's that?" I lose my train of thought as Marus puts his arm behind his head and I spy writing on his skin. I lean across his chest and trace the three numbers depicted there with my fingers.

Marus looks chagrined. "It is my old squad number." He must see the confusion on my face because he elaborates. "Teens do dumb things. My squad decided that we would all get our squad number to show our commitment."

"…Squad? Like soldier-squad?" I'm half lying across him, watching the play of emotion cross his face. _Was that regret?_ I am stunned at the idea of Marus in combat, holding a gun. I'm not sure why, when he has been showing me that he can do perfectly well in hand-to-hand combat almost every night in the Training Center. Still, combat is a different type of situation.

"Yes. I was training to be a soldier when Alma Coin took notice of my scientific inclination." He must see the shock on my face because he shoots me a wry grin. "If I had known taking off my shirt would draw your rapt attention, I would have taken it off in front of you weeks ago." I wrinkle my nose at him and he leans down to kiss me, chuckling.

It is some time later before we finally rise for the day. We do the awkward dance of two people who are not used to getting ready with someone else in the morning. As we prepare to walk out the door, he wishes me luck at prep.

"You'll be with us during the interviews and for the opening, right?" I know I say _us_ but I really mean _me. _I need Marus for his calm support.

He nods, "My first concern must be Peeta." If Peeta has an episode, Marus will need to be nearby.

"Of course. And… afterward?" I feel a slight flush on my cheeks as I watch his eyes crinkle at the edges. I know that he understands my meaning: now that we have stayed together for a night, I want more of it. What I am asking is if he wants the same thing.

"I would like that. Would you like me to come to the mansion tonight?" I nod, finding that my voice is suddenly absent. "…Until tonight, then." He leans in and kisses me, hard. With a pat of his pockets to make sure he has his glasses, we close the door and take on the day.

**(A/N: I'm still now sure on this Chapter… on the one hand, it seems very tame. On the other hand, it is "T" and they are in bed together. I'm still trying to figure out where the line is for the romantic scene. If I offend anyone with this, please let me know. My intent is to walk the line but not cross it. )**


	16. Prep

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 16: Prep

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I drop by things off at the mansion, have a quick debrief with my team and a fruit-laden pastry which tastes amazing. I realize it is the first thing I've eaten in almost 18 hours. I am just finishing my tea when my assistant reminds me that I am due for Prep in the Training Center. _I wouldn't want to make the Prep team wait,_ I think to myself on the way there. I am expecting, indeed, looking forward to soft lighting, perhaps some music, and a relaxing and refreshing prep.

I get the inkling that all will not be relaxing lotions and massages when I see the facility where my beautification will occur and it looks harsher than any hospital room.

Hours later…_how many? I've lost track_…I am more uncomfortable than even when I was injured with a bleach bomb. And if I thought that stung, I've never had a full body polish and been waxed, had my teeth whitened, and something stinky and goopy that smells like mud applied to my hair. We argue over the scars on my body: I want the team to leave them and they beg me to "treat" them. We compromise by treating the small marks on my shoulder and working only a little on my neck scar. By the end of it, my prep team has positioned me in all sorts of ways that defy both my musculature and my modesty.

When we take a break, I briefly wonder if Katniss had to go through this. If she did, I have new respect for her. I say as much to my prep team, thinking it will make them laugh. All three quiet down almost immediately.

"Katniss is a brave girl," Venia says and I notice the subdued anger in her eyes.

"Yes, she is. One of the bravest I have ever met." I lower my voice and all tracing of joking is gone. "I just thought… well, she isn't a very girl-y girl. All of this must have really been a lot for her to take in." _I know it's a lot for me and I'm twice her age! _Venia gets up from her chair quickly and goes to fuss with some tubes. My eyes follow her and then come back to Octavia and Flavius. Both are starting at their plates, eating quietly. Octavia looks almost like she might cry. _What is going on? _Either this group is so very loyal to Katniss that I have offended them, or something else is going on. I get up and walk over to Venia. "Venia, what did I say?"

Venia rattles more tubes and remains silent. I can see the effort is costing her by the way the gold tattoos above her eyebrows are furrowed into new shapes. I lay my hand on her arm and she glares at it.

"Are you going to kill us?" She asks.

"Wh-what? Why would I do that?" My hand drops from her arm in shock.

"Rumor has it that when Snow was displeased with stylists, he had them killed. You didn't seem too thrilled with what we were doing to you earlier. If you're going to kill us, just do it. Coin captured us and had us tortured and I don't think we can go through that again. Especially not Octavia." I look back at Octavia, who is staring vacantly at her hands.

"Venia, look at me. Look. At. Me." My voice is low and full of conviction. _What happened to these people? _"I am not going to kill you. I don't care how horrible the treatment is, or even how bad the final look is tonight; I am not going to kill you for doing your job. Do you believe me?" I can see her fear war with the need to believe me. "This is a partnership. I want you to understand that what we are building in the new Panem isn't just about me, it's about you too. Talk to me and tell me how I can make you feel like you can stop being afraid." I watch as Venia looks at Octavia and Flavius.

When she finally responds, I am not sure how to take it, "I don't know if we can go back to not being afraid. Sometimes things change and you can't change them back."

When Venia leaves to attend to Peeta, I feel raw from both the physical and emotional scrubbing. My prep team has shown me that, even in the Capitol—perhaps _especially_ in the Capitol—people are insecure and afraid of what is yet to come. While Snow was aloof and punishing, I must be accessible and full of warmth as well as competent and decisive. The citizens of Panem must see benevolence and compassion from their leader.

My team picks up the pace of their work after Venia departs, although the mood remains quiet and somber. Tigris makes an appearance, carrying garment bags and several boxes wrapped with twine. She takes in my appearance and gives Octavia and Flavius final instructions, unpacking several items while they finish up their work. When Tigris dismisses them, I shake their hands and thank them for their hard work, trying to impart strength into my words. They will not look me in the eye.

Tigris waits until the door shuts behind them and then turns to me, cocking an eyebrow quizzically. I explain to her that the team believes I will have them killed if I am displeased with their work today. She waits a moment, then nods as if it that point of view makes total sense to her.

I stare at her in shock. "I know that Snow did those things. What I don't understand is how they could think that I would."

"They don't know you." Her quiet words resonate within me. _They don't know me now, but tonight could change that. _Tigris watches the play of emotion on my face go from hurt to stubborn. She starts searching through one of the boxes, and finally pulls out some lacy underthings, holding them aloft. I've never had anything so fine in my life. Not even the garments that my Mother made by hand were so delicate or exhibited such patience, care and craftsmanship.

My stubbornness swiftly transforms to consternation. "You expect me to wear those?"

"Foundation garments make the look," she states matter-of-factly. When I raise my eyebrow at her, she continues, "Think of them as a token of your district." _Low blow, Tigris._ When I still do not take the garments from her, she tries one more tactic, "I designed them with the doctor in mind. I am sure he will appreciate them." My eyes fly back to the soft lace and wisps of silky fabric in her hands, suddenly viewing them in a whole new light. I can picture the change in Marus's eyes when he sees me in them and feel his hands discovering their softness against my skin. They are a far cry from the cat pajamas of last night.

I snatch the clothes from her. I struggle to get into them—they are surprisingly more "foundational" than decorative. I motion to the other boxes and bags. "What are all of those?" I cannot imagine that my dress takes up more than 1 of the bags. I wonder exactly how many accessories Tigris has brought with her.

"Your new wardrobe." Tigris opens a garment bag and I see several new blue suits in varying hues and cuts. They are as different from my current suits as these undergarments are from my typical underwear. She points at a box and then at what I am wearing now, gesturing that it is filled with more of the same. It dawns on me that she was so aghast by my suits that she made me an entire new wardrobe in only a few days. I am so dumbfounded that I am not sure whether to laugh or smirk. She gestures at the entire lot and says, "They all have pockets." The expression on her face shows that is her only concession and I cannot help but laugh. In her own way, Tigris is trying to make me the best of myself in front of Panem in the best way she knows how.

When the cool fabric of the silky amethyst studded gown glides over my skin, I get goose bumps. Tigris pulls out a pair of long dangly earrings studded with more gemstones. They resemble sparkly strands of primroses and the light hitting them refracts into rainbows when I view them through my tears. They are a perfect complement to the dress and the occasion and the beautiful, vibrant woman who stares back at me from the mirror. _Is that me?_ Only the low heels of the shoes I am wearing hint at my more sensible inclinations. I sway this way and that, like a child playing dress-up and watch the play of light on my shimmering dress, earrings and face. Tigris walks to me, holding an open box out as I continue to play with my reflection. Inside it is a mockingjay pin.

"Where is the original?" I ask, staring at it.

"Check your pocket." I realize there is a crafty little pocket in my dress and give Tigris a smile when my hands find it and close around the familiar shape of Katniss's mockingjay pin.

In a hasty show of emotion and nervousness, I hug Tigris. "Thank you. Thank you so much for everything…"

Tigris wears an aloof expression, yet I can see the satisfaction in her eyes.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I do not recognize the woman in front of me, although she resembles Brinna with her energy and her mannerisms. She smells amazing and I keep trying to get closer to her just to determine what they have done to her skin._ Is it as soft as it looks?_ I wonder. I swear I can hear her dress gliding along her skin. When the dangling jewels of her earrings brush the sensitive skin of her neck—the spot that my lips discovered just last night—I am transfixed.

This woman is luminous, with a glow that is not just makeup and skin treatments but that emanates from within her. I follow her backstage, like a shadow following in the flow of her sunlight.

She greets a group of children that each seem to be recovering from some sort of war injuries. All of them wear shirts with Peeta's face emblazoned on the front, a sure sign that Plutarch will be zooming in on them during the broadcast. She jokes with them, easily squatting down to their level so the littlest ones can touch her dress or her earrings, taking in the beauty with wide eyes. I am sure it has been too long since they saw something beautiful without pain. They drink it in.

She seems me hovering on the periphery and introduces me as Peeta's doctor. The children immediately converge on me, a celebrity by association and ask me about him: his strength, his kindness, even his art are all topics of insatiable curiosity. One small child, the same one who reverently touched Brinna's jewelry, asks me, "Is it true that his cakes are so pretty that they make you cry?"

I bend down to her level, "I don't know about his cakes, but his cookies are very tasty. Do you like cookies?" When she nods, I tell her, "Then we will have to make sure that you try some for yourself." I know that Peeta would like nothing more than another reason to bake more primrose cookies. Perhaps he could even make a visit to this group of children. I vow to ask him when I find out that most of them are still in a hospital type of facility. I look up to find Brinna talking quietly to Octavia.

I tell the children that I will see them again soon, and follow Brinna down the hallway to the Training Center. _What is she doing?_ I am especially concerned when I see her stop in front of her portrait and produce a small bottle of what looks to be nail enamel. With a small motion, I see her dab a bit of the enamel in a corner.

I wait until she is clearly finished—since I do not want her to ruin whatever she is doing to the painting—and then approach her. "What are you doing?"

She is quiet for a moment, "I had this horrible dream—it's happened a few times. In it, Boggs tells me that I should _protect them_. I haven't really been able to tell who _them_ is, until today. Seeing those children just now… What if Boggs was telling me to protect them? So, I am making a vow. During my presidency, I am going to do everything I can to protect the children of Panem and will not knowingly take actions that harm them."

"Like the Games?" I think back to the many conversations with Plutarch.

"That's just one example." Her eyes get a far-away look and I wonder if she is thinking of District 2.

"So you defaced your own painting with nail polish?" I know my voice sounds baffled.

She flashes a grin. "Yeah. I couldn't think of anything else, and Octavia had some in her purse. My Mother always used to say a symbol is what helps us get to our goals. Now, every time I see this picture, I renew my vow." I think of the tattoo Brinna found on my arm. I know first-hand how a symbol can help someone focus on a goal. She is quiet for a moment, and then extends her hand out to me. "There is something else—something that I want Peeta to have."

When she opens her hand, I see the Mockingjay pin in her palm, the dull gold shining. I hear her continue on, "Katniss needs protecting now too."

I just stare at the pin, thoughtful. I recall the girl in 13 who was so full of fire and action. The one who would not respond to therapy or even participate, even when I pretended to nap and was so certain that would draw some sort of conversation out of her. Lastly, I remember her on a bed, broken but singing.

I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Peeta has protected her before. You want this to be a reminder of that? To help counteract his fake memories?"

She corrects me. "They've protected each other. I want this little piece of her to remind him that it was a partnership. At least until she snaps out of it and can remind him herself."

"What if she does not snap out of it? Or choose to remind him?" I remind Brinna that people can be fickle.

She shrugs grimly after handing me the pin. "Then it will be a reminder to be strong and stand up for what he believes."

She turns back to the painting and gestures to the crude flower, saying thoughtfully, "I hope Peeta's not too mad."

I look at the blobby shape she has added and think of Peeta; so few people know of his perfectionist tendencies, especially when it comes to his art and his baking. And yet, I think that a part of him will really like Brinna's vow. "I think you should tell him about it. But you might want to do it publicly." When she looks at me in surprise, I laugh.

We head back to the interview area as the time gets closer for broadcast and meet up with Peeta backstage. Peeta and Brinna make jokes about how they look—Brinna actually twirls for him—and I hear Peeta say quip about underestimating the power of brilliant stylist. When Brinna throws back her head and laughs, earrings swaying and sparkling and highlighting the arch of her throat, I swallow hard. By the time I look back in Peeta's direction to ask how he is, Peeta is staring at me with an odd look on his face. When I raise an eyebrow in his direction, he just smiles. It is like he has just figured out a secret about me.

Plutarch joins us, going on about how he wants to get some great footage tonight. I can see Peeta tense up the minute he joins us. Peeta's hands form fists when Plutarch tells him he is under-dressed for the occasion. Peeta shrugs the comment away, his confidence in Tigris readily apparent.

"I think he looks adorable." I hear Brinna say. Peeta turns a shade of red and looks at his feet sheepishly. He looks eighteen years young in that moment, as if the war and torture and his Games did not happen.

"I suppose we can do an interview with Gale Hawthorne in District 2 for our next installment in the series. He's always been so photogenic and will guarantee a certain audience." Plutarch ruminates. I watch Peeta wince slightly and know that Plutarch has hurt his pride. Peeta does not mention his scars at all. He mostly does not seem to notice them. Still, when compared to the handsome cousin of the Mockingjay, he obviously feels some negative comparison. I am sure that does not further endear Plutarch to Peeta. I breathe a sigh of relief when Plutarch leaves our group; I am sure that Peeta is under enough stress tonight without Plutarch being around him.

Brinna takes Peeta's hand and wishes him luck, then leaves us alone for a few minutes.

I clear my throat, banishing the temptation to follow her with my eyes instead of focusing on Peeta. When I turn back to him, he is grinning at me again. "What?" I say? _What does he see?_

He shakes his head. "Nothing." The grin stays on his face, though.

"Peeta, how are you feeling?" I am concerned that the stress of tonight may be too much for him.

"I'm fine. I think I just need some time to think through my approach to the interview. You know, quiet time."

I nod. "Okay. I will be in the prep team box if you need anything. If you need to focus on anything in the audience, you will know where to look." I know there is not more I can do for him than give him time to collect himself.

I make my way to the prep team box. The box has refreshments, plush seating, everything I would have assumed in terms of accommodations if I had bothered to give it a thought. Despite the party atmosphere, and the opulence of the surroundings, the prep team is quiet—almost subdued. I take my seat, happy for the lack of chit-chat. I know that there is a lot riding on the outcome of tonight for both Brinna and Plutarch. I have heard further rumors of uprisings. The Capitol seems to be a hotbed of violence now that people here know what it is like to be less than comfortable.

In an odd way, the Capitol and 13 are alike that way: neither district has really "wanted" for much, while others have suffered.

I shake my head from that rather unpleasant thought: I should concentrate on something more appealing. Brinna in her purple gown comes to mind. If I close my eyes, I know that I will see the smooth fabric following her hips as she walks. I wonder what she has underneath that dress. I doubt, somehow, that it is as appealing as a pair of casually worn cat pajamas.


	17. Interviews

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 17: The Interview

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

_It's just like being in front of a classroom…. It's just like being in front of a classroom._ I stand backstage, hearing the crowd and trying to calm myself down. I've spoken in front of groups before: I do it almost every day now. What scares me is the sheer number of people I hear in the audience. _I'm sure it will be fine. Breathe. Breathe. It's just like a classroom…. It's just like a classroom._

Caesar Flickerman strides backstage, grinning and shaking hands. I've met him before, of course, but his smile and handshake are no less warm because of that. He seems completely un-phased by the noise and the crowds, after his 30 years of hosting interviews for the Games. This is all just another day at work to him. _I wonder what it will be like when I've been doing this job for 30 years. _

The thought stops me short. I can't imagine doing this job for 30 years. My overwhelming feeling is that the problems with Coin and Snow came about because they were in power for so long. I push the thought out of my head – I can think about that another time. Right now, I need to concentrate on breathing. On being warm. Approachable. Competent. On mostly just getting through the next hour or so of my life. _Breathe. Do it for the children you lost. _ I close my eyes and think of my classroom and of the children who started me down this path; so many of them gone. _Do it for them._

Before I know it, I am on stage and waving to the crowd. It is deafening and so hard to hear Caesar. I focus on his eyes and block out all else, a habit from working with my Mother near the looms as a child. He introduces the video segment on rebuilding the districts. I stand and make my way to center stage, talking about what is on the screen: before shots of each district with an animation of what the "after" should look like. There is the medicine factory for 12, high-end alcohol distilling for 11, clean-up for 2, rebuilding the fishing fleet for 4, alternative fuel plans for 5, above-ground housing for 13, boosting train production in 6 to rebuild the nation's railways, plans for medical facilities in every district, available to all... the plans are long, but I cover them patiently. Every district was hit by the war to a certain degree. Every plan must be presented as a way to give hope to everyone that there will be sacrifices for a time, yes, but they will end at some point. We can be whole again.

Caesar finishes off the video segment and we walk to chairs for an interview. This is the kick-off to the propos on re-building that Plutarch wants and they start with some sharing from me. _They need to know you, Brinna._ I think of Venia and the prep team's fear and my spine straightens with resolve. I can give them something to relate to because my story is so similar to theirs.

"President Paylor," Caesar starts, "Can you tell us a little bit about how you got here?"

I pause for a moment to gather my thoughts. "Well, Caesar, you may know that I was a teacher in my district. I taught older children – those within reaping age. When talk of the fighting started, some of my students wanted to join up. I caught wind of it and held them after school." I hear chucking in the audience at the thought of detention for wanting to be a rebel. "They had such resolve, though, that I had to help out. I got the families organized with supplies, shelter, that sort of thing. I guess you could say that I enjoy organizing and planning."

"Did you ever think about being president?" Caesar asks.

I laugh a little bit, shaking my head. I can feel my earrings swaying. "No. This isn't something I imagined. I am discovering all sorts of new things."

"Like what?" Caesar asks with interest. I wish I could tell how much interest is genuine versus his well-honed showmanship. _In the end, does it really matter?_

I think for a minute – _start with something simple. _"Kind people exist everywhere. No matter where I go, I see people who love one another." My eyes find Marus's in the audience. I wonder if he knows how much he matters to me. "People who want to do what is right and necessary for their families. I see people who have made mistakes and are trying to learn from them." I think of Lilyah and her daughter and son.

I pause for a moment. "Caesar, can I tell you a story?" Now is my chance to give a little bit of myself to Panem.

With a flourish of his hand, he motions for me to go on.

"Growing up, my Mother used to make quilts out of scraps of cloth: old clothes, blankets, etc. We didn't have much and heat during the winter was a luxury. She would save all sorts of scraps, come up with a pattern and sew at night after her shift. She never complained, even though her fingers would sometimes be sore for days. It would take her months to piece together the quilt top, then more months of getting together with friends to quilt through the layers of top/batting/backing. I never understood the point: I was a pretty impatient child." I get quiet for a minute, remembering her quiet strength and her sense of humor. "She used to tell me 'Brinna, some things can't be rushed. They take time. And some things, especially things of beauty and worth, are best accomplished together.' When I asked her why she made quilts at all when we could have just quickly sewn the clothes together into serviceable blankets instead, she said, 'I make quilts as quickly as I can to keep my family warm. I make them as beautiful as I can to keep my heart from breaking.'

"I have a dream for Panem. I think it is the same dream most of us have: for families to grow up and love each other in a safe, fair and beautiful place. Building the dream is going to take us all working together to make it happen. We have to piece together the scraps of what we have and stitch them together with patience, love, and forgiveness to make the best of who we are. We have all sacrificed to get here, whether we fought or whether we held our families together as best we could. We all know heartbreak. We can make something beautiful and get to a better place, together. That is my dream."

"Thank you, President Paylor. That was lovely." He turns and addresses the audience, "How about a nice round of applause for President Paylor?"

I stand up and wave again, slowly making my way off stage. In a moment I am walking to Peeta and squeezing his hand. I can't tell if I am smiling in encouragement of him or because I am so glad it is over. I hear Caesar begin his introduction of Peeta as "the Victor everyone has come to see". Peeta doesn't seem to have heard, but I squeeze his hand again anyway.

When Caesar announces Peeta's name the crowd cheers loudly. Peeta hears it and walks toward the light.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I watch Brinna take the stage, striding purposefully in her gown. I am once again struck by how beautiful she looks. She speaks of the rebuilding efforts warmly, going into just enough detail about the devastation to paint a before-and-after picture of each district. I watch her enthusiasm as she gestures toward the screens, taken in by her confidence. I know this is what got her elected: her passion for Panem's growth, her ability to take complicated material and summarize it both thoroughly and memorably.

There were other serious contenders for president, both within the rebellion and outside of it. I am sure that Boggs would have been in the running if he had lived. Some had more experience in business. Some had more military acumen. Some had relationships with wealthy patrons, or had money of their own. None shone with her inner light when discussing problems to be solved. Her personality brought out new and fresh ideas.

I wonder if she realizes that I voted for her. Even before I loved her, I respected her.

Just as I have that thought, her eyes lock on mine and I hear her say that she sees people who love one another. _She has no idea how right she is._ I wonder if she knows how essential she has become to me. There are people in life who inspire us to do great things. Brinna is one of those for me. I am hoping that she becomes one of those people for all of Panem; I have a feeling that we will all need that inspiration to rebuild.

Before I know it, she is waving at the crowd again and Caesar is introducing Peeta. I sit a little closer to the edge of my seat. If Peeta has difficulty, I need to be prepared. I am once more amazed at how effortlessly Peeta navigates the interview. His warmth and genuine self-deprecation plays to the audience beautifully. His graciously recognizes his prep team and Tigris for his "look", calls attention to his scars, even makes a joke about the Snow regime. I am ready to breathe a sigh of relief when Caesar leans in and broaches the topic of Katniss.

Caesar asks, "We were all very touched when you saved Katniss in the Capitol Center and then again during the assassination. Especially after being hijacked, what was going through your head during those events?"

I carefully watch Peeta's face for any signs of trouble. I see none, just a flash of something… protective. Katniss definitely triggers Peeta on multiple levels. I listen to him answer, "I wanted to keep her safe. Get her out of harm's way. She's been through just as much as I have, and I couldn't let anything bad happen to her."

Behind Peeta, they are showing footage from Coin's assassination. A gaunt Peeta is grabbing Katniss and holds her arm in a tight grip. It looks like he is holding her for Peacekeepers to arrive. I know better: I know that Peeta has his hand over a pill that could end her life. Katniss looks like a hunted animal up at him, her eyes filled with fear and defiance. Peeta's eyes are haunted; his face on the screen reflects his desperation. He seems fine, yet my hands tense around the arms of the chair. _Hang on, Peeta. You are doing just fine._

Caesar asks about Peeta's journey of self-discovery.

Peeta's response surprises me. Peeta describes himself as a rebel because he wanted to change things about his life from the time he was very young: Katniss and her near-starvation, his beatings at the hands of his Mother. He describes other acts of rebellion after the berries that cemented his fate.

I do not think of Peeta as a rebel. I think of him as a fighter, especially mentally. And yet, listening to him talk about things like sneaking into Katniss's room, giving some of his winnings to those people in 11, warning those of us in 13… he has a point. He became a rebel the moment he tossed her that bread – maybe as soon as he decided to love her. I wonder if he understood that as it was happening.

_I wonder what my defining moment will be. _I am sure it has not occurred yet, and I am more than twice Peeta's age.

When Peeta mentions that I have helped him to discover that we are all The Mockingjay, I am taken aback. I hide my reaction when I see the camera pan over to me. I do not recall having an explicit conversation about adaptability. I reach into my pocket and grip the Mockingjay pin, thinking about how right he is. We are all adapting to the new world, whether we want to or not. I hear another sentiment that gives me pause when I hear it come from him, "…especially if it means forgiving ourselves."

_Ah, Peeta. You are so right. You are forgiving yourself every day for the things you believe about Katniss, for trying to hurt her and for the death of your family. You are working so hard. _

I almost miss Caesar ask about a reunion with Katniss and another pregnancy attempt. I watch something slither across Peeta's face and know that question is outside his tolerance. We have not dealt much with the fake pregnancy in therapy and this has left Peeta grossly underprepared for this line of questioning. I want to shoot to my feet and run to him, but know that will only draw attention. I wait until he has waved himself off stage, then make my way to meet him as casually as possible.

By the time I get to him, he is already curled up on the floor, crying.


	18. The Exhibit

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 18: The Exhibit

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

After stopping to wish Peeta luck, I make my way to the Training Center. People greet me at the door and wish me well. Among them is a patron from the Welkin family, who actively lobbied for me to be elected and also helped me to discover the truth about Coin and the Capitol Center bombs. I greet him warmly with a strong handshake. We exchange pleasantries and news of various districts. Although most Capitolites know of our association, we do not spend long together because the walls in this room still have too many ears.

I make my way over to a fruit display. Although the delicacies prepared for the guests look tempting, I avoid them. All of my nerves from earlier are catching up with me and I know I need to eat something – something not too rich. I eye the chocolate fountain and the champagne longingly, promising myself that later tonight I can have some left overs sent to my quarters. Perhaps Marus would like to sample the treats together. A shudder runs up my spine as I pick up a fruit skewer, imaging a few ways to spend the evening with dipping chocolate, fruit, champagne, and the good doctor.

Sometimes it is good to the president.

More greetings occur. I spot my prep team and Tigris and make my way over to them. I hug each of them in turn, which makes Octavia look stunned, Flavius beam and Venia narrow her eyes. Only Tigris both declines the hug and has no change in facial expression. Her tail and whiskers twitch a bit, though, as if she is either irritated or smug. I am happy, so I assume she is pleased and move on my way. I work the room, noticing where my pockets of supporters are, where some who still oppose me mingle in the crowd where the camera crews are stationed, and where all of the food and drinks are set up.

My skewer of fruit gone, I decide against playing it safe and staying with friends, and move in and greet some of my detractors. I make my move to a bar set up in the midst of several of Snow's colleagues. Under the guise of greeting a few people and choosing a drink, I listen in on their conversation.

…"The whole thing is just disgusting. She does not have half of his charisma," says a man in a blood red suit sprinkled with rubies. His skin is dark, his dark eyes flash as he speaks.

His partner, a man in a gold brocade jacket with gem buttons the size of my hand interrupts,"Don't forget that the districts don't respect her – you know what happened in 2. Building the dream? HA! Whose dream is it? We are all going to lose our shirts if we back her schemes." _How does anyone know what happened in 2? Marus said it wasn't televised._

Ruby man nods. "I hear that 13 is still going to take care of the matter and we will have a new leader soon.

I've had enough. I saunter over, my bright blue drink in hand. "Hello, gentlemen! Thank you for joining our exhibit tonight. I don't believe we have been introduced. I am President Brinna Paylor. And you are?"

They say their names and I repeat them, tagging faces and names to memory. "What did you think of the interviews? And the rebuilding efforts?" If they have criticisms of my regime, I would love to have an open discourse. Of course, they do nothing more than mumble inanities in support of whatever was said; _such cowards_. I sip my drink, the cool sweetness doing little to reduce my internal temperature. I get set to depart for another group of people by saying, "Every Thursday afternoon Rebuilding Consortium that meets in the mansion at 3 sharp. If you gentlemen are passionate about taking part in re-establishing this great nation, you should join us."

They tell me they will think about it. _Yeah, right._ I shake their hands again and walk away. As I am departing though, I hear the gold one say, "She probably sees her doctor. He is probably the one with all the ideas anyway. Maybe they should just take care of him too." They snicker quietly.

I brush it off. I do, indeed, see my doctor who is standing beside a pale looking Peeta. _Did something happen during Peeta's interview? _ I watch them covertly from my place back at the bar. I say hello to a few colleagues from the rebellion as I watch Peeta recover and greet everyone from his prep team to people I know must be total strangers. I watch him have a conversation that lasts a few minutes with Venia and watch her face go from insecure to glowing when he leaves. _That boy has certainly got a gift. _ When I turn back to the bar, I notice that Plutarch is having a private conversation with the ruby man and his partner. I wish I were closer enough to hear whatever it is that is being said, despite being sure that I would not like it.

I push away from the bar and make my way over to Peeta when I see him standing alone in front of a painting . It's a painting of Katniss up in a tree looking down on the careers and awaiting her death. She is both afraid and defiant. Her look mirrors the churning I have in my gut.

"I wonder what she's thinking." I say.

"She was thinking about whether or not I was really trying to kill her." Peeta keeps nibbling on his fruit skewer.

I shake my head. "No. I mean what she's thinking _now._ Right now. Do you think she knows you're going back to 12?"

Peeta turns to me quizzically. "No. Unless Haymitch told her, which I doubt. He's not really the sharing type. If he didn't tell her then, he's not going to tell her now."

I motion for him to follow me to my portrait and say over my shoulder, "When are you leaving?"

His eyes cloud a bit, like he is thinking of something urgent, "I'm not sure. Soon."

"I was going to ask you to be involved in a project here in the Capitol. If you're leaving soon, I don't think I should bring it up." When he looks interested, I continue, "Did you see the children in the audience tonight? There were a bunch of them sitting together. They were all wearing 'We Wanna Be Like Peeta' shirts. They were either burn victims or amputees; some from the districts who live here in the Capitol now and some from the Capitol from…before. They really look up to you. You could say you're their recovery role model." I grin at him.

Peeta grimaces. "Where did they get the shirts?"

I grimace back at him. I am sure he has the same suspicions I do about the shirts coming from Plutarch. "I don't know. I was thinking, though, that you might start some sort of program for those kids… really get involved with them. Guide them back. But now that you're going back to 12…" I trail off. I see the spark of interest on his face war with his resolve to get back home. I wonder if 12 is going to feel like home when he gets there. I try to lighten the mood and turn toward the painting, bumping Peeta in the shoulder and saying, "Hey, I know. Maybe I'll send them all to 12 and you can start some sort of baker's apprentice thing. What do you say?"

We laugh. We both quiet and just stare at the painting. I wait for him to notice the splotch down by his signature, but he doesn't. "I added a little something to the portrait. Please don't be mad that I can't draw." I chuckle, a little nervous, and point to the splotch.

Peeta draws in a sharp breath. I can't tell if he is angry or surprised and recall Marus's advice, _Make sure you tell him in public._ I hope he doesn't think I defaced his painting. The look on his face is somewhat comical, like he can't figure out what I hoped to accomplish with my addition. As I open my mouth to explain, I notice Marus walking toward us and smile in greeting. I know my smile shows more than just polite interest in the doctor. I wonder if Peeta picks up on it.

Marus ask politely, "Peeta, how are you feeling?"

Peeta explains, "I'm better than I was earlier. We were just talking about my departure for 12." I can't help but glance at Marus meaningfully. _We've got to figure out when to give Peeta the pin._ Marus looks back at me as if he is sharing the same thought. I notice Peeta watching the two of us, his eyes following our unspoken conversation and a look of amazement on his face. It's almost like he's never seen us together before.

Marus turns back to Peeta and says, "Peeta, the roof has a lovely view. Why don't we all go up there, since we probably won't have the opportunity again?"

Peeta nods. Marus motions for Peeta to precede us, and casually puts a guiding hand on the small of my back. I can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of my dress, steadying me. I can also tell that the motion is not lost on Peeta, who seems to want to laugh out loud at the physical contact between us. I wonder if Peeta is one of those children who believe that teachers live in the paper closet of their classroom rather than exist as flesh and blood people. From the expression on his face, it never seemed to occur to him that Marus and I might be a couple. It might annoy me if he didn't look so delighted in the discovery.

It's chilly on the roof, so I immediately launch into an explanation about Plutarch filming downstairs, hence the necessity for the roof visit. It's pretty obvious that Peeta gets the message loud and clear that the walls downstairs still have ears and what I want to say should not be overheard. There is a brief silence as we each take in the quiet solitude of the roof compared to the heated party atmosphere we have just left. It is a nice feeling where I can actually feel my heart and hear myself think.

I clear my throat and speak deliberately. "Peeta, I wanted to tell you that…I'll keep them safe. Panem's children. I think about the Hunger Games vote a lot and I want you to know that I vow never, ever during my presidency will I allow children to be misused that way. Prim's sacrifice and the sacrifice of all of those other children will not be in vain. You have my word, Peeta. That addition to your painting is a symbol of my vow to you."

Peeta nods slowly in response, his eyes very blue and very intense. I think he gets the solemnity of this moment for me. I'm not finished, though.

"Their sacrifice will not be in vain and neither should yours and Katniss's. Boggs and I made a promise that you should live a long life. After all you've been through, you deserve it. We'll try to keep Plutarch out of your district for as long as we can…it's one of the reasons that we presented Katniss as unstable; so she could live a private life if she wanted. We felt we owed her that. We owe you both that." I notice Marus starts at the mention of Boggs. He does not miss his cue, though, and steps toward Peeta holding the pin in his hand.

"Peeta, we want you to have this. Especially in light of your interview tonight, we think it is appropriate." Marus and I both smile at Peeta as he stares at the Mockingjay pin that glints softly in the moonlight of the roof. When he makes no move to take the pin, Marus urges him gently and softly, "You are whole, Peeta. You may not be the same as you were before – none of us are – but you are whole. All the pieces are there. They are just in a different configuration. Perhaps a better one. It is a choice to be the Mockingjay and go on when no one believes you can or when no one has a use for you anymore."

When Peeta still makes no move to take the pin, I tug his hand forward and cup it around the pin and Marus's hand with my own. "Peeta, make the choice to stay whole. Live a long life, full of happiness." I realize Peeta is very close to tears when he looks up to meet my eyes. He takes a deep breath to ground himself and then…

Whatever he was going to say is lost as Plutarch slams open the door to the roof. I squeeze his hand around the pin and drop my own, turning toward Plutarch.

"There are my stars!" Plutarch staggers over to us drunkenly. _That man has the worst timing._ I look over at Peeta, who has a look on his face of obvious dislike. I throw a look of concern to Marus, who shrugs back at me as if to say, "Can you really blame Peeta for hating this guy?"

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

When Plutarch storms his way onto the roof, I want to grab him by the throat and shake him. Not only is he rude for interrupting us, but his introduction of a fake pregnancy question during Peeta's interview is something I cannot forgive. It is almost like he knew that would trigger an attack and he wanted to provoke one to make better ratings. Plutarch is bubbling about how thrilled he is with the interviews and the footage. I can see Peeta bouncing one foot impatiently, trying to tune him out. That is, until Plutarch tries to crack a joke about that last question – the one that resulted in Peeta curled up on the floor backstage.

I have only seen Peeta angry, really angry, a few times outside of his attacks. It is a formidable sight, with color rushing to his cheeks and his blue eyes flashing. Peeta is young, strong, and unpredictable and Plutarch would do well to remember that he is also a two-time Victor of the Hunger Games. I can see Brinna take an unconscious step between the two men and I shake my head at her: let Peeta have his say.

"You knew Caesar was going to ask that question, didn't you? About Katniss and I…Katniss and I getting back together? You know it might trigger an attack, but you let him include it anyway. Did you get a close up of my face? I bet you thought it would be great footage either way?" Peeta sneers at Plutarch, who is either too drunk or too oblivious to understand Peeta's anger. Peeta continues, actually advancing on Plutarch and flexing his fists while he yells, "Just like the clock arena was great footage. Did you get a close up of Katniss in the Capitol when her sister exploded?"

Brinna tries to casually move between then again. Again, I shake my head in her direction. Let Peeta get this out and let Plutarch hear it.

Plutarch stammers something about the Capitol Center. "All those children corralled there, overnight, in the cold. No matter what happened, we knew showing it would get the Capitol's sympathy. It was a great series of shots. The girl was just collateral damage."

I pity Plutarch for his complete and utter lack of understanding of humanity. That last statement even has Brinna flexing her hands into fists.

Peeta is still yelling, "You knew about the parachutes. You knew!"

Plutarch sounds self-congratulatory, "We thought it would have great effect – and it did. It immediately brought an end to the war. It played even better because you and the Mockingjay were there to help."

Peeta's voice quiets considerably. Judging from his narrowed eyes, he is no less angry. "Did you leave me there during the Quarter Quell to die? Was that your plan all along, even if you had more time during the rescue mission?"

I know that is the crux of Peeta's hatred for Plutarch. He needs closure on whether what happened to him was an accident, or orchestrated by the rebellion. He needs the answer to this question to move on. Brinna shoots me another worried look and I shake my head again – Peeta needs closure.

"Haymitch wanted both of you. Coin and I agreed that we really only needed one of you and that it would actually play better to have one of you and not the other. We wanted to capture one of you grieving and fighting, that sort of thing. Coin and I wanted you to be the one rescued, since you are so much better on camera, but we could not get to your location and so we grabbed Katniss instea—"

Peeta's punch is solid and right to the jaw. I can hear Plutarch's teeth snap together right before he crumples to the ground, caught by Brinna. Peeta advances on him, intent on doing more damage but I place my hand on his arm; one punch can be excused while an entire beating cannot.

Brinna gets Plutarch to his feet and throws his arm over her shoulder so she can half walk, half drag him downstairs. She shoots a dismayed look at me, a concerned look at Peeta and says, "Peeta, remember what I said earlier – we'll hold him off as much and for as long as we can."

I watch the play of expressions on Peeta's face, hoping the anger will clear. Brinna's statement does the opposite and another rush of bright color comes to Peeta's cheeks. I am suddenly glad that Brinna is walking away with Plutarch as I am fairly certain that Peeta would hit him again if he were closer. I watch them get through the door, and then turn to Peeta.

"That was unfortunate." I say.

"He deserved it." Peeta shakes his right hand.

I sigh, knowing that I am about to sound like my father. "You may believe that to be true, Peeta. He did, however, save your life." _Violence is not going to solve anything. You need to let your anger go. _

"He also sacrificed my life and made a spectacle of it." Peeta says it quietly, the bright red finally leaving his cheeks.

I am hesitant in my observation, "You are fighting the attacks so much better now. It only takes you moments to recover."

"Good thing, since they are coming so fast." Peeta is still catching his breath and moves the pin from his hand to his pocket before wiping his palms on his pants. I motion for him to follow me.

We walk over to the garden area of the roof – the place is filled with grass and trees and greenery and wind chimes. I also know that Peeta and Katniss shared some time alone up here. I am hoping this will be a test of sorts. One could almost call it the final test to prove that he is ready for what I believe must occur after his confrontation with Plutarch.

"Peeta, do you remember this place?" I ask. When he shakes his head, I ask again, "No recollection at all?" _That is just odd. Why wouldn't he recall this place? _ I would have thought it would be a large trigger. I might even consider that Snow could not access the memory. For it not to be there at all…_what does that mean?_

"Should I remember it?" Peeta looks at the surroundings, trying to see something that might jog his memory.

I sigh, baffled by the mystery. "Yes. This place should remind you of Katniss."

Peeta continues to look around, then shrugs. "No, nothing. Why would you bring me here right after an attack if you thought it would remind me of Katniss?"

I sit down. This is going to be a difficult conversation. "I wanted to talk to you about your return to your district."

Peeta sighs. "It can't wait until tomorrow?"

It is times like this that I wish I had Peeta's gift for persuasion. I do not, so I charge in with information. "Peeta, you just punched the Secretary of Communications. I think we should consider that you may want to depart somewhat sooner rather than later."

Peeta looks stunned, as if he had not considered that angle. "Paylor would have me arrested?"

I chuckle at the thought of Brinna arresting Peeta when she had wanted to punch Plutarch herself. "I doubt it. But Plutarch will make your life uncomfortable now that you have drawn attention to yourself. Stay here and he may put a film crew in the mansion. Leave in a few days and he will probably follow you so he can do a piece on your return home. Or…steal away in the dark of night…"

Peeta flexes his bruised hand, as if he wants to unconsciously punch Plutarch again. "Do you think I am ready?"

I nod, slowly considering all I know about my patient. "I think you need to face the district and you will have an initial shock. Katniss…well, I am not sure. You are stronger than you were and your recovery from the attacks shows great promise." I am completely unsure of what being back in a place so filled with loss will do to him. On the other hand, if Katniss is really unable to function, then the risk will be less.

"But it's still risky, isn't it?" Peeta sounds full of doubt.

I nod slightly. "Peeta, we gave you that pin so that, if things got rough, you would remember that you are not alone. Remember all of the good things that people have done for you. Remember that you can adapt and change. So can Katniss."

"She can. But will she? She's really stubborn."

I say with certainty, "Katniss has a tremendous desire to survive. You can count on that."

"But what is going to reach her? What if she is too far gone to listen?" _Ah, the crux of Peeta's concern is always Katniss, even now._

I think for a moment. How does someone inspire another to grab onto hope? I think back to my childhood. "Perhaps you should look to your Games for a tactic: in your first Games, how did you protect her?"

I see recognition dawn on Peeta's face. "I joined the careers."

I nod. "You became what she thought was her enemy. How did that make her feel?"

He looks thoughtful. "She hated me."

"You kept her safe by acting like her enemy. You may need to do something similar now because she may not listen to you any other way. Can you do that?"

"If I can make her angry enough to fight me, she'll have a chance, won't she?"

I nod. "That is my thinking." Anger will carry her through until something stronger takes over.

"It also has the added bonus of building in some space. We won't have to spend every minute together. She won't need to pretend to care about me and we can finally drop the Star Crossed Lovers thing."

I pause a moment. I do not have the same constant exposure to Katniss that I do to Peeta, but I do recall a bit about her in 13. Peeta is underestimating her feelings for him quite a lot. Finally, I say, "Peeta, you both have a tremendous capacity for love. It actually trumps your need to survive. Think about the reaping and how she volunteered for her sister. Think about how you protected each other. I know that you believe you are not in love with her. Promise me that, if you get a chance to grow closer to each other, you will consider taking it."

He stares at me and then drops his eyes to his hands. When he speaks, his voice sounds heavy with emotion. "She didn't love me the way I deserve to be loved."

"I am not debating that. The point of this exercise is to move on and start anew. I am saying that you should not use the past as a predictor for the future. All I am saying is do not close yourself off from the opportunity." I think of Brinna and I, and my past when it comes to relationships. "Now, let's take a look at your hand and make sure it is not broken." I poke at his hand, asking him to flex it. We sit and listen to the chimes and the quiet of the night.

I break the silence, bringing us back to Peeta's departure at hand. "I will send you some supplies – they should arrive on the next train after yours. Is there anything you want me to include?" Peeta provides me with a list of his belongings: baking supplies, drawing and painting supplies. He also wants a length of rope, which makes me pause.

"Rope?"

"Yeah. Maybe this long." Peeta demonstrates a length about 18 inches long. I feel a sense of relief – he may be able to use it as a garrote, but he will not use it to hang himself. "It's to practice my knots. In case I need something to help me stay in control."

I nod. "I will call you each morning for the first week to check in. We will assess how things are going and change our plans as needed. If you need me more frequently, call the number on the card." I hand him a business card and make sure he puts it into his pocket. "See if you can get Katniss to call me. I cannot keep covering for her if she never picks up the telephone."

I pause again and rub the bridge of my nose. Saying goodbye to this boy is difficult for me. I sigh. "We should get you to the train station." I memorized the train schedules when Peeta had first approached me about relocating and I know one leaves at close to midnight. He will travel for a day and a half and arrive at 12 mid-morning.

Peeta blocks my effort to rise. "I want to thank you for everything you've done. You and the President have been great. I hope she doesn't think that I acted out of line tonight." Peeta sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

I tell him wryly, "Brinna is quite attached to you and well aware of the downside of Plutarch's enthusiasm." Peeta's eyes fly up to mine when I use Brinna's first name. At the implication that the president and I know each other well I see a huge smile break across his face, as if he just confirmed something he has suspected. "We will talk again. It's not as if we will never speak." I pat Peeta's leg and we slowly make our way to the train station.

I wait with Peeta until his train pulls into the station, asking him questions about his district. I am glad that Peeta likes to talk so that neither of us will dwell on all the things that could go wrong. When it is time for him to board, he turns to me once again. Before he speaks, though, I jump in.

"Peeta, thank you for teaching me so much. Take care of yourself, first and foremost. And if you need anything, do not hesitate to call." There is more I wish I could say: _Thank you_ _for bringing me to the Capitol. For bringing Brinna to me. For showing me my own value._

Peeta opens his mouth and closes it, as if he means to say something. He finally shakes my hand and says, "Take care of the president. I know it seems like she can take care of herself; those stubborn women can be the ones who most need the help." He winks at me.

I stand there gaping in surprise and he laughs, boarding the train with a backward wave. I finally shake my head and chuckle. Brinna Paylor is the most in control person I know, and the least likely to accept help from me. _Maybe that is his point. Maybe, just like Katniss, she can use someone looking out for her. _

I stand at the train station, watching the train that will take Peeta home. The soldiers of my district have a sign of respect, much like 12's three-finger-to-the-lips salute. It involves extending my left hand downward in a fist while making a fist with my right hand and crossing it to my left bicep. It is a sign of strength, of respect, of recognized character. I do it now in honor of Peeta, although he cannot see it, then turn and walk back to the mansion lost in thought.

_Boggs and I_ _are training with bayonets while the new recruits run laps and do basic training exercises. The sunlight feels good on my skin, even though the day is chilly. I can see Katniss and Johanna Mason trying to keep up with the other recruits - Katniss seems to favor her ribs a great deal since returning from 2. I have had very little to do with the Mockinjay, unlike Boggs who seems to be around her as an unofficial guardian, appointed by Coin._

_Boggs trains the way he usually does when he has something on his mind - he is more careless than calculating and I am able to gain some ground on him despite my own lack of recent physical training. _

_The rebellion and advent of refugees from 12 have kept us busy._

_He lowers his bayonet, breathing heavily and motions to Katniss and Johanna with his head.  
"Alma is going to have Peeta join us." _

"_Training?" I laugh, out of breath. "He is not ready for that. He is barely allowed out of his quarters with guards and in restraints." _

_Boggs turns to me, completely serious, although he appears relaxed. "It's going to happen, Marus. And if he trains with us, he will fight with us." I get Boggs's meaning – if Coin is serious enough to have him participate in training, then the leap to fighting with a squad is a short one. _

_I nod, thoughtful. "That's his value to her – support for the rebellion. He is not stable enough for an interview with Plutarch, so she will use images of him physically supporting us." _

"_I do not think that is his value. I think his value is as a fail-safe in case things get uncontrollable." I narrow my eyes in response to what he is suggesting, which is that Peeta will be used as a weapon to neutralize the Mockingjay. My breath comes out in a hiss as I wonder why I did not predict this. Then again, this is why I am a scientist and Boggs is our strategic commander. "Brother, I am not going to let that happen."_

"_Neither will I." I do not know Peeta all that well, but I will not let Coin destroy another boy in pursuit of power. We look at each other, in silent understanding. _

**(A/N: This chapter was a bit longer than my normal ones, simply because it had to encompass all of the Exhibit events from Moving On. The rest of the story takes place –obviously – after Moving On ends and will have a tie in to the third installment of this series. We have about 5 Chapters or major events left in this story. Feedback, criticism, etc, is greatly appreciated!)**


	19. Tigris's Surprise

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**(A/N: This chapter is short because it is mostly a love scene. Although fairly tepid – it is a "T" rating – skip it if you do not enjoy implied intimate contact.)**

Chapter 19: Tigris's Surprise

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I am back in the mansion, sharing a very late night snack with Brinna. We are eating some sort of cold fowl asparagus with lemon, and strawberries dipped in chocolate, all served with ice cold champagne. Neither of us has changed our clothes and the entire meal is surreal – like I am eating with a stranger. I cannot seem to take my eyes off of Brinna's mouth. I wonder if she can tell that I am distracted.

"Did Peeta get to the station alright?" she asks, nibbling on a strawberry.

I put my half-eaten strawberry on a plate and wipe my hands. Despite my love of sweets, my appetite disappears when I think of the possibilities awaiting Peeta. "Yes. I told him that I will send him some belongings and supplies on the next train tomorrow. He gave me a list." When Brinna questions what the list entails, I tell her.

"You should have Effie organize his supplies. She is brilliant at that sort of scheduling and organizational stuff."

"Effie Trinkett? My patient?" I blink at Brinna.

"Yes. She has been volunteering in the mansion and is extraordinarily organized. I think she likes the structure of a tight schedule." I shake my head. I always knew Effie enjoyed that sort of position. I had no idea that she was back to working, though.

Since we both seem finished with our meal, Brinna motions for us to take our champagne to the couch in front of the fire. This is the same couch where I put her to bed all those weeks ago. I send a glance her way: the woman in front of me looks entirely unlike the apologetic and exhausted president from before. I am uncomfortable around this new, self-assured president. Her earrings catch the light from the fire, throwing sparks and mesmerizing me.

"How is Plutarch?" I ask. Brinna had escorted Plutarch off the roof after Peeta had hauled off and punched him. We had decided that Peeta needed to leave the Capitol before Plutarch could regroup.

Brinna half shrugs, half grimaces. "He is Plutarch. Very upset that Peeta does not appreciate all he has done for him. He'll wake up with one heck of a headache tomorrow, but he'll live." We sit, quietly swirling our champagne in our glasses, watching the bubbles.

"I am sorry that the little girl I spoke with will not have any of Peeta's cookies." I think of the conversation earlier tonight. The little girl was so thrilled that she would get to try his cookies and perhaps meet him.

"I will put together whatever we have in the kitchen and send it over to them tomorrow." Brinna offers. I nod at the gesture. The stiltedness of our conversation is not normal, even for the middle of the night.

I put my champagne down and turn toward her on the couch, asking what I want to know. "Did your mother really say those things?"

"You mean about our family and working together?" Yes. She believed in patience and doing things together. She was heartbroken when she kept miscarrying after me. She made a quilt for each baby, saying that each quilt represented all of her positive thoughts and wishes for the new life. When my father got sick, she knitted him blankets to stay warm. It was almost like she was physically wrapping us in love."

"She sounds like an amazing woman." I recall very little of my own mother, and my words come out a little wistful.

"She could be. She could also be a pain in the neck. She liked to have things her way. Loved to meet people – I swear she knew everyone in our district. And she had a story for everything." I meet Brinna's eyes, full of humor at the thought that she and her mother have a lot of common. She smiles at me wryly, as if knowing what I am thinking. With a sigh, she closes her eyes and rests her head on the back of the couch. It's silent for a moment and then she speaks again. "How well did you know Boggs?"

I stare into the fire, not really sure where to start with my answer. I decide to answer with facts. "We trained together and were the same age. Thirteen is not that large, so you can surmise that we knew each other well." I do not have to look over to know her eyes are on me and that she is frowning. Instead, I close my eyes. I see Boggs's face again, asking me about Peeta and what sort of threat he poses to Katniss. _I hope there is no threat this time, brother._

I feel a cool hand on my face and open my eyes to see Brinna's face close to mine wearing a concerned look. "I apologize if that is bad subject. Every time I mention his name it seems to startle you." I hold her hand against my face, pressing it to my cheek.

"He was my best friend. I miss him." Even those simple words hurt my heart. Something of my pain must show on my face because Brinna leans in and replaces her hand with her lips, which are softer than I remember. I reach up to her shoulders, lightly stroking, to find that her scars are mostly erased. I break off the kiss to look at her skin. "Your scars are gone."

Brinna laughs, her earrings twinkling. She points to her throat, which still has some faded pink scarring visible. "Not all of them. I told them to leave this one. My prep team told me that Panem deserved a beautiful president."

I grip her shoulders gently. "You are beautiful. But you were beautiful before, too. Your scars – they make you who you are, Brinna. And you are exceptional." I lean in and kiss her shoulder, where the pock marks from her bleach shrapnel should be. I kiss the largest scar still visible on her throat and make my way up to her lips, relishing the feel of her skin, hoping I convey how beautiful she is to me, scars and all. I cup her face in my hands, her earrings tickling my fingers as they stroke her ears. I feel her hands grab the shortness of my hair and tug me closer, deepening the kiss.

When I feel her pushing at my jacket I break the kiss to take it off. As I fold it over the back of the couch and pat the pocket, Brinna laughs as I reach to pull her to her feet. "You are always checking on your glasses. It's sweet."

I nod, not really listening and pull her warmth to me, skimming my hands along the cool fabric of her dress to bringing her closer. My face is in her hair; our bodies flush as I press circles at the small of her back. Something near my heart further gives way when she leans into me and puts her head on my shoulder. I feel safe and loved and entirely whole for the first time in a very long time. I find myself wishing I could freeze the moment and keep it with me forever.

"Tired?" I murmur against the skin of her forehead.

She nods. When she looks up at me, her brown eyes look dark and luminous. "Stay?"

I nod and entwine my fingers with hers.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

_I wonder if Marus can feel how nervous I am._ I know that we've been together before but tonight seems different to me. It could be the champagne, or the dress (or what I am wearing underneath), or it could be the finality of Peeta's departure or even Marus reminding me that he had a life before me. Whatever it is, I want to hold him tightly.

When he takes me hand and squeezes, I tug him toward my bedroom, nervous laughter on my lips.

Marus gets ready for bed first, then we switch. When I come out, face scrubbed, jewelry gone but still wearing my dress, Marus is sitting on my bed reading something. He is bare-chested under the covers, adorable in his reading glasses. He notices my arrival and glances over the top if his glasses in consideration before taking them off and placing them on my bedside table.

"No cat pajamas?" He asks.

"No." My mouth is suddenly dry. The ten steps that lie between us seem to be miles. He must see something on my face because he flips back the covers and immediately joins me.

He takes my hands in his again and places a tender kiss on my lips. "Hey. If you have changed your mind, I can go." I am shaking my head before the words even leave his mouth. "Brinna, what is it? You seem really upset." He rubs my freezing hands in his.

I don't know how to say it. How do I mention that I feel like a present waiting to be unwrapped? Or a turkey trussed up for dinner? Perhaps I should have changed into my own pajamas and left Tigris's "surprise" undiscovered. And yet, I want to see if his reaction matches the one I have attributed to him in my head. I finally say the first plausible thing that comes to mind. "I need help getting out of this dress."

And like a coward, I turn my back to him.

Marus chuckles and I laugh a little as he fumbles for fastenings and zips, tickling me in the process. I feel each inch of skin get exposed to air as the dress gapes a bit. When he finally parts the fabric and I step out of it, I stifle the urge to grab it to me and use it as a shield. I shut my eyes as I hear Marus cross to a chair and place the dress over the back of it, then cross back to me. I continue to keep them shut as he turns me toward him.

I feel a gentle touch trace above the lace that is covering me and my eyes open to find his face very close to mine. I give him a half-hearted smile. "Tigris thought you would like it. Do you?"

Marus's eyes briefly leave my face before returning, his blue-green gaze intense. "I think the same thing I have thought all night – you are stunning and incredible. I would like very much to kiss you and then share a bed with you." His eyes drop to my lips and I can see his pupils dilate as I lick my lips.

It is exactly the right answer.

**(A/N: I have my husband beta most of work. He kept getting the giggles during this scene, which is why it is so short. Evidently, I had the asparagus and "foul" rather than "fowl". He kept thinking of them with food poisoning and could not keep a straight face!)**


	20. I Love You

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 20: I Love You

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

Peeta has been in District 12 for one week. Effie managed to get him all of the supplies he asked for, and he is adjusting as best he can. So far, the bad days for Peeta outweigh the good. We talk daily; mostly about the things that trigger attacks (everything from seeing the bakery to the woods surrounding 12) a bit about his overwhelming grief. Peeta's arrival and consequent walk through the decimated wreck of his home town has left him shaken but coping.

He talks very little of Katniss. What I know of their interactions so far have been limited to a description of Peeta planting primroses outside of Katniss's house shortly after his arrival. As he put it on the telephone, "I did it for me, not for her. Every time I look at her house, I see those primroses and it gives me hope." When I pushed him for news of her status and whether her presence was triggering attacks for him, he mumbled, "This Katniss is not a mutt. Mutts have substance. The girl who lives in District 12 is a ghost."

Katniss herself has yet to contact me.

Peeta's sign of hope – primroses – has blossomed here in the Capitol as well. Since the interviews, they are as prevalent as I hear the Mockingjay symbol was before the Quarter Quell. The flowers show up on scarves, jewelry, bags, cookies (bakers here are still trying to copy Peeta's designs) and one very large cake at a fund-raising reception for our "primrose president".

Brinna's new nickname is the reason I am standing outside of Tigris's shop, staring at fur-lined underwear displays despite the warmth of the day. Tigris herself has occasionally visited the mansion. Because I am there almost every night, I tend to run into her. What I have to ask her is best done in private, however. I also need to thank her for Brinna's new undergarments. They have made Brinna more confident, which makes her more… expressive… when we are together. The combination has contributed to my pleasantly-tired demeanor.

The bell tinkles overhead when I push open the door. The shop is smaller than I expect especially given Tigris's new fame as the presidential stylist. Tigris herself greets me at the counter.

"Doctor." Tigris looks around her and then raises an eyebrow at me as if asking why I have come all the way to her little side street.

"Hello, Tigris." I clear my throat. Enjoying Tigris's amazing creations one thing, admitting it to her is another. I take a moment to pat my pocket for my glasses and the piece of paper I have brought along. "I am sure you are wondering why I am here." Her eyebrow does not change its position, but her whiskers begin to twitch. "I have come to ask for some advice."

Tigris begins to lick a paw-hand. I cannot tell if that shows disinterest, annoyance or it is permission to continue.

"Brinna… that is… President Paylor and I have gotten fairly close recently. Some of that is due to you, so thank you for that." I stammer that out as I feel heat color my cheeks. I am thankful she is not watching my face. The steady licking continues. I take it as a sign to go on talking. "I was hoping that you might help me commission a gift for her. If you like the idea – I was thinking I might have a pendant made."

The licking stops. I take that as another good sign and pull the drawing out of my pocket. It is a crude drawing of the mockinjay pin, only smaller. In the mockingjay's talons is a single arrow and in its mouth it holds a primrose. Tigris takes the picture and pulls out another piece of paper. In five minutes, she has redrawn the picture, including details like colors and what gem stones go where. I give input until I am happy with the design until we both quietly consider it.

"Do you think it is too much?" I look at the delicate, gem studded rendering. It is not the sort of gift I have ever given.

"No. What do you think of this?" Tigris surprises me when she pulls a drawing out from under the counter. It is of a military ribbon of honor with a medal hanging from it. The ribbon is purple, and the medallion is a stylized mockingjay with an arrow in the talons. Above the mockingjay are the works "bravery & sacrifice". Although my design is more delicate, it is amazing how close the two ideas run in parallel.

"Is that a military medal?" Tigris nods. "President Paylor does not have anything like that. I think it is a great idea. Have you spoken with her about it?"

"No. Would you?" Tigris and I make a deal: I will talk to Brinna about the Order of the Mockingjay and Tigris will have a jeweler make up my gift. I am feeling good about the interaction when Tigris says something that stops any positive feelings. "It's getting pretty dangerous in the Capitol."

"Have you heard something?" Brinna has become more closed-mouthed about any sort of danger.

Tigris growls, "Rumors are everywhere, starting from the most obvious places."

I nod thoughtfully. _Snow's friends and Coin's leftovers. _I wonder if the two groups are working together yet. I will have to stay vigilant. "Brinna should keep her friends close and her enemies closer, then."

Tigris nods, and then adds, "I have also heard that Plutarch will be starting his singing show soon. You will want to pay attention to the opening credits. You may especially want to see them beforehand and warn friends in District 12. "

I grimace, unable to imagine what Plutarch will dream up or how it affects Peeta and Katniss. "Thank you for the warnings." I put away my reading glasses and pat my pocket.

"Why haven't you left?" Tigris asks, clearly baffled by my lack of surprise to her news.

"Left the Capitol? Brinna is here. I would rather die by her side than live anywhere else."

Tigris's eyes soften when I say that, as if a puzzle piece has snapped into place. I am reminded of Peeta's face during the exhibit when he saw me and Brinna together. _Why is everyone so surprised by us? _

Later that night, Brinna and I are lying in bed catching our breath when I broach the subject of the medal. After I explain the concept and what it would look like, I wait for her reaction.

She pauses to put on her cat pajamas, and then says, "I don't know, Marus. I am not sold on the idea that any person has more bravery than anyone else. Everyone we know has made some sort of sacrifice for the war. What makes one person's sacrifice worthy of a medal?"

I think for a moment, then answer, "How can you say that Boggs's widow has felt the same loss as you or I? Her son will never know his father."

"So does every family who lost someone receive a medal? Doesn't that negate the whole idea of a medal because there would be so many?"

I do not have more of an answer and I can tell we are at an impasse as she slides back into bed and wraps her arms around me. I am used to arguing with Brinna by now, and used to losing a fair share of those arguments. She challenges my mind and does not seem to hold a grudge when we disagree.

I let the silence gather around us. I can feel her breathing steady as I play with her hair. My hands stop as I ask the question that has been plaguing me since talking to Tigris, "Brinna, are you in danger?" I think she is just going to ignore the question or is still actually asleep when I feel her sigh deeply.

"I think so. Yes. I keep hearing rumblings of different plans. Nothing concrete. " My arms tighten around her.

"How do I keep you safe?" I kiss the top of her head.

"You're a scientist, Marus, not a soldier. Besides, whatever is happening, the group does not want to negotiate. They don't want reform. They just want me dead."

I roll over to face her. "Brinna, nothing can happen to you."

"I am making arrangements for the next leader. I won't have Panem dissolve back into a war zone."

"That is not what I mean." I cup her face, making her look at me. "There is no doubt in my mind that you will do whatever is necessary to protect Panem. I need you to understand that I will not allow anything to happen to you while we were together. It would decimate me."

Brinna mirrors my motion, cupping my jaw and says quietly, "I love you, too. Let's just take it one day at a time."

She kisses me softly, wishes me goodnight and rolls over. I breathe the scent of her hair, wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. I hear her voice again, _I love you._ I close my eyes to fall asleep, hearing those three words in my head over and over.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

The Council on Rebuilding adjourns and I make plans and notations about our decisions in my project notebook. I am sure that my assistant has also recorded our session, but I like the feel of writing things down and solidifying my thoughts. It reminds me of lesson plans, which I miss. I miss my ugly suits and comfortable shoes and students with their faces freshly scrubbed. I miss paper sack lunches with stale crackers or a piece of fruit, eaten with the smell of chalk boards in the background. I miss pop quizzes and the dawning look of confidence when a student discovers that he knows the materials despite thinking he did not.

When you are president, a pop quiz means someone might end up dead. I sigh.

Plutarch bounces into the room just at that moment, all happiness and light. I've taken it a little easier on Plutarch since Peeta hit him then made off for District 12. I figure that, if I support and influence Plutarch's efforts, perhaps he will share more about what he knows. Maybe we can team up in a more positive way. It also has the added bonus of keeping him away from District 12.

"Plutarch, I was just about to have some tea. Care to join me?" We sit and I pour as Plutarch chats about anything and everything.

"How is the singing show coming along?" I ask, sipping my tea and nibbling on a cookie. My new baker is nowhere near the level of Peeta, and the cookies taste like dust.

"It is almost ready for Prime Time! So exciting! We are going to title it, _Can You Sing Like a Mockingjay?_ It will feature contestants from all of the Districts and the Capitol, with three judges giving them feedback while it airs live."

"It sounds very exciting."

"Oh, it is. I am hoping that you will come to our inaugural episode and be in the audience!"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it." I smile at him.

"And bring the good doctor, of course. It really is too bad that Katniss is not able to be a judge." At the mention of Marus, I feel my smile falter a little. I try not to think about our exchange last night or the fact that he did not say _I love you_ back to me.

I clear my throat. "Yes, well, I don't think she is quite ready for that. Perhaps if she gets to that point, she could be a guest judge for a later season."

"Ah, yes! That is perfect! Paylor, you are a genius."

I laugh at his enthusiasm. We move on to talk of the Rebuilding Council. I ask him a bit more about plans and rumors, looking for more information about a plot to kill me: Plutarch knows everyone and has certainly proven to be flexible in his alliances. Plutarch shares only general information.

He mentions that he thinks some of the districts want recognition for their war heroes. I ask, "Recognition? What sort of recognition?"

"I think some sort of public ceremonies, monuments with their names on it, that sort of thing. You know, so they can heal." I think on it for a moment or two, sipping tea while Plutarch continues to talk, "I think of it like an offshoot of our rebellion showcase propos – _Where are the heroes of the rebellion?_"

_Someplace they can go to in order to reflect and remember their loved ones. Hadn't Peeta said something similar once? He hadn't wanted to move on because it meant leaving his loved ones behind._

"What about a medal? Like a military honor. We could start with that." I think back to Marus's idea from the night before.

Plutarch smacks his leg. "That would be great! It puts a really personal spin on it. We could concentrate on the ones that are still alive or their grieving widows, show the hope that they feel at being part of the new Panem."

I have had enough of Plutarch's enthusiasm, so I stand and nod. "I will work on it this week."

Plutarch takes it for the dismissal it is and leaves.

Much later that evening, Marus and I are sharing a late dinner of roasted game hens stuffed with wild rice in an orange sauce. I am wrapped up in the replay of last night, wishing that Marus had said the words back to me.

I barely hear it when he starts speaking, "Brinna, are you alright?" It isn't until he waves a hand in front of my face that I snap out of it.

"I'm sorry, Marus. I was just wrapped up remains of the day." I wipe my mouth daintily with my napkin and sit back in my chair.

"You hardly ate anything." He watches me and then looks down at my plate.

"I know. I wish the Training Center were clear so we could use it like we used to. Perhaps I should have part of the mansion cleared and we could work out here." I mean it as a joke, but it doesn't sound like a bad idea once the words come out. I start thinking of weapons we could move in, perhaps some training dummies. The rooms in Snows quarters are large enough that they might work.

"Brinna, I want to move into the mansion."

_Wait. What? _I stare at Marus blankly.

"We spend most nights together, anyway. And I can't shake the feeling that I should be here to protect you."

I push away from the table violently. "Marus, you are a scientist, not a soldier. I have plenty of guards here and I do not need your protection!" I ignore the stinging in the region of my heart, knowing full well why I am having this reaction. It has nothing to do with him moving into a house that is so big I would never need to see him. Nor does it have to do with his misplaced sense of gallantry.

I hear him come up behind me and feel him cup my elbows. "Brinna, I want to be near you."

"It's the new underwear, isn't it?" I try to laugh it off, but it comes out sounding bitter.

Marus turns me to face him. "It is not the underwear. I miss you when we are not together. I think of you all the time. I would have asked weeks ago, but I felt that it was too early and too awkward with Peeta here too. If something happened to you and I missed it, I would never forgive myself."

"You're doing out of a sense of obligation." I deflate further.

"I do not view it as a sense of obligation. I view it as a commitment. And I take my commitments seriously."

I stare at his blue-green eyes, searching them for some sign. In the end, I say yes because having him here is what I want, anyway. And if I am up against a threat and my days are numbered, I want the ones I love closest to me.

Even if he won't say the words back to me.

**(A/N: So, since I see some people reading this, it must mean that it either really sucks or ya'll are waiting for the end. So am I. In terms of updates, figure there will be one a week until this ends. I'm writing for nanowrimo – .org - this month and it is really messing up my cadence. Thank you, to those of you still sticking with me.)**


	21. Plans

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 21: Plans

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

Waking up with Brinna is the best part of the day. I knew this, of course, before I joined her in the mansion. Living with her, cements it in a way I had not anticipated. She is my partner in every sense of the word now: we eat breakfast together, eat dinner together, sleep and rise together. Every day I steep myself in my commitment to her and rise strengthened by it. I have followed through on my promise to protect Brinna by keeping my ears and eyes open. It turns out that politics is a lot like science – being smart actually just means being quiet and observant – and I am comfortable performing those duties if it keeps her safe. As Brinna becomes busier, I train alone and keep my physical resources sharp.

Brinna invites me to Capitol dinners and receptions. We become a staple at Plutarch's broadcast openings where he refers to me as the _presidential consort_. The title makes us both laugh once we are in private. Her attentiveness remains constant, her passion contagious. And yet, I feel her holding something back from me, becoming more distant in some regard I cannot name. Perhaps it is the feeling of expectation I sense whenever we are in public together: conversations hushed too soon, askance glances sent our way. I can feel trouble brewing on the horizon.

As for Peeta – it has been a month since he left the Capitol. Our calls have moved to three times a week, and he seems to have stabilized somewhat in terms of his attacks. The grief he feels at the loss of his family, his district, and his memories is still pervasive. Before Peeta left the Capitol, we had decided that his best strategy was to make Katniss believe he was at odds with her. He is still following through on that strategy and it appears to be working. He seems to be pushing her to do new things and break out of her crippling malaise.

Katniss called me for the first time of her own accord. I consider this a victory.

Peeta described her on a phone call as a ghost as opposed to a mutt who was ready to kill him. I am not sure what he meant by that description, but her voice certainly seems ghostlike. The first conversation with her was so full of grief that it almost seemed she was in an impenetrable bubble. I told her to try to find a new pattern in her life, to go through the motions and eventually she would find meaning again. She talked about the primroses that Peeta planted like they made her recall that her loss was not hers alone.

The most interesting thing about Katniss is how much she asks about Peeta's condition.

I finish making notes in Katniss's patient file as I wait for Brinna to finish dressing for dinner. She is running behind schedule - we are dining with Plutarch and few other supporters in a bid to raise money to extend the rail system out to District 13. I am nervous, as tonight I plan on giving her the pendant that Tigris had commissioned for me. I pace the width of our bedroom, the box heavy in my pocket.

My first thought when Brinna walks into the room is that Tigris has done it again: Brinna is in a black dress that comes just to her knees and wraps around her body, clasped with a diamond clasp at the waist. Her hair is up with long tendrils that make me want to nuzzle the back of her neck, her earrings are diamond drops. Her team has once again erased the circles under her eyes and she glows with vitality. She looks regal. She looks like moonlight and starlight.

"You look beautiful." I say, honestly. Of course, she could be wearing a sack and I would still say that.

"You should see what I have on underneath." Brinna twirls, her skirt floating around her like a cloud and then winks at me over her should.

I playfully put my hand over my heart. "Tigris will be the death of me if she keeps this up. I am not a young man."

Brinna walks up to me and straightens my neck tie. "You don't do too badly for your age." And when she looks at me and smiles, I swear I see the future in it. I see us standing on the balcony, waving at Panem after the rebuilding is done. I see a gray haired Brinna pacing a room while I sit and read in front of a fireplace, her hands flying in gestures as she engages in passionate discourse on some topic. I see us dancing at something called a Harvest Festival, Brinna's hair flying free and her smile very white in the firelight. I see flannel pajamas with cats on them for both of us as we cuddle our wrinkled old bodies together. _You are my partner and I would give you all that I am._

She must see something on my face because she pats my tie one more time, drops her eyes from mine and steps away. "We mustn't be late."

Brinna and I sit on opposite ends of the dining table. Between us are Plutarch, Boron and Lilac Welkin, Mark and Chaela Whaley, Keefer Ricies, Shawnee Wallis, Hetor Olivaro, and Jillh Erwine. All of them had been instrumental in one way or another in getting Brinna elected. All were involved in some way with the rebellion. Some are on the Rebuilding Committee, but not all. Only a few have contact with Paylor detractors, Plutarch being one of them.

We talk about the weather through the cold berry soup course. Talk turns to rebuilding and activity in the districts through the pork, roasted with fennel and served with yams. Brinna brings up the train idea, talks through the necessity for it while more wine is served and a plate of cheese and fruit is brought out.

The group discusses the train idea vigorously: Boron and his sister in law are adamantly for it, passionately lobbying for the unification of Panem. Shawnee and Hetor do not see the necessity, especially for the cost. The discussion goes back and forth. Plutarch talks about what the investment would do for the morale of the country. Keefer Ricies broaches the idea of 13 contributing to cover the costs, an idea which everyone seems to love.

Brinna says thoughtfully, "What if they won't help pay for it?"

The group seems taken aback. Boron says, "We all agreed to support you when we voted you in as President. District 13 signed themselves into the union and agreed to abide with Panem's decisions. To not do so is treason."

"What are we to do, Boron? Threaten to break up the union if they do not comply? We are not children. We have come too far in too short a time to risk it." Brinna says quietly. I realize that Brinna is talking about more than transportation. She is posing the fundamental problem of dissension within the government. It is there and we all know it. How do we approach it? Do we hunt down those who disagree like the former regime? Do we allow the dissension to exist and risk it growing?

"President Paylor, with all due respect - we all agreed to bring in a new president by vote. That vote was decided and it was you. To disagree with that vote, or any decision made by this government cannot be something we can condone." Jillh Erwine says.

Brinna motions for dessert to be served. I know this to be a delay tactic so that she can gather her thoughts. When the coffee and tea has been served and each of us has a boat of custard with carmelized, spun sugar crowning it in front of us, she says, "So what is the answer? Are we saying that, if 13 has a different opinion on the matter, that we force them to comply? Do we truly believe that will grow the tenuous peace that exists?"

Chaela Whaley speaks, "The war almost decimated the personal fortunes of families like ours. We were lucky to remain largely unscathed! We must not be the only people who finance Panem's recovery. We need the districts to begin to carry their own weight, starting with 13. They have not contributed to Panem's greater good in the last seventy five years. It is time that they stop thinking only of themselves."

"They still have their nukes." Hetore says quietly. That seems to silence the group and we eat our custard quietly, tides of trivial conversation ebbing and flowing. I merely pick at my dessert, despite my love for all things sweet. The group is talking casually about military action against my home district which shocks me. I continually need to remind myself that civility is only a veneer for some people, including those in 13 and some of those here in the Capitol.

Brinna is her usual business-like self when she says, 'It sounds as if we have agreement that we need the train to run to 13. We also have agreement to finance roughly half of the project, if 13 will cover the other half. If they do not comply, we will discuss further reparations of some sort. Agreed?" The group nods or murmurs their assent. "Excellent. Then we will deal with nuclear disarmament and that 13's lack of compliance as a separate matter."

With that, we adjourn to another room where a popular musician is playing for us. I straggle behind, tired from the heavy meal and the topic. I take another sip of my tea, gazing into the amber liquid and hoping for something to soothe the ache I felt in my heart when I think of more violence.

"You didn't say very much during dinner." Lilac Welkin says, moving from her spot at the table to one closer to mine. I do not know her very well, so I simply give her a small smile. "And you didn't eat your dessert. My children would be aghast." She stares at my mostly full custard.

"Would you like it?" I motion toward the bowl. I, too, am aghast that I left it. We have nothing like the food in the Capitol in District 13. To waste such an amazing dessert would be just unheard of there.

"No, thank you. I'm so stuffed already!" She pats her stomach.

"How many children do you have?" I have seen pictures of the Welkins all over the Capitol, but I can not keep the family – and who belongs to whom – straight.

"Three. I am rebuilding Panem for them. So they never have to go through what their Grandmother went through at the hands of a corrupt government. I want to give them something better. That's why I support the Primrose President."

"And what of renewed violence? Do reparations forced on districts that do not comply fit in your dream of a better future for your children?" I do not sound bitter, which makes me proud of my control.

Lilac has the grace to look down at her hands. "I don't know where they fit, Doctor. I just know that we need to remain a united Panem, or we will be at war with one another constantly. We are better together than we could ever be apart."

I sit quietly as I do not have anything with which to argue the point.

She clears her throat, "Doctor, I know that you care about our President. I do as well. I thought I should let you know that there has been talk of a more personal action against her."

I look at her, slow recognition dawning. "You have heard it too?" She nods. "When? Where? Who?"

Lilac answers, "We do not know when or where yet. We are working on those. We believe the responsible party may be a former Snow supporter, bitter over the election. We have very limited knowledge, since it seems that there are multiple plans. We have to believe some of them are decoys."

I rub the bridge of my nose. "Would you be able to send me the specifics you have on the plans? Perhaps I can plan a counter-attack."

Lilac looks at me like I have sprouted two heads. "Are you sure that's wise? You don't have the resources to plan something like that."

I laugh a little. "That may be true. But sometimes, one man acting alone can accomplish what an army cannot."

She assesses me for a long moment. "I will have the information sent to your office."

I nod. "Excellent. Now let us see if this singer can carry a tune."

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

_Where did Marus disappear to during the concert? _ I think to myself as I kick off my shoes. I thought he had stayed behind after dinner, as had Lilac. _What was he doing?_ Come to think of it, he had been acting oddly even before dinner. The way he had stared at me, it was like he had never seen me before! All of this is especially strange given that we see each other more than we ever have before.

Not that I am complaining.

Since Marus has moved to the mansion, things between us have exceeded my expectations. He is supportive, caring passionate, attentive, and a wonderful companion. There is only one downside: Marus has not told me that he loves me. I know he does because I can feel it when he kisses me or when he holds me at night. I don't know why I want to hear the words from him when they aren't necessary to our relationship. I just want to hear them.

"You were awfully quiet during dinner." I say to him. Given the topic, I don't think I blame him. He doesn't normally talk a great deal during these sorts of dinners. I make to pull the diamond pins from my hair when I feel him reach into my hair and rub my scalp. I lean back into his warm body, all the tension flowing right out of mine. I feel him nuzzling my ear as he pulls the pins from my hair, then takes out my earrings. "Are you sure you've never lived with a woman before?"

He whispers in my ear, "I've never wanted to live with one before you." He gently turns me around to face him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, "So where did you disappear to?"

He kisses me softly. "Lilac Welkin and I discussed a few things."

"Anything interesting?" I fiddle with his tie, which he then pulls loose, undoing his top button.

"Not really. Not as interesting as me wondering what you have on underneath that dress." He winks at me.

I laugh, lighter than I've felt all night. "I guess you'll have to unwrap me to find out."

Afterward, we lay in each other's arms. My mind drifts back to the dinner conversation. "Marus, what did you think about the dinner conversation? "

He thinks for a bit. Either that or he is drifting off to sleep, so I shift a little to determine which. When I feel his arms tighten around me, I know that he is just thinking. "I think that using force against districts that do not agree with the Capitol is what started the rebellion."

I sigh. I agree with him.

"Boron means well, and he's right: it is treason. But didn't we fight for the districts to have a right to their opinions?"

"We?" I add jokingly.

I can hear the laughter in his voice when he replies, "Fine. You - you fought while I was holed up in a lab." I kiss him for playing along. I kiss him because I can, because he is here with me and because I love him. The trouble is that I agree with Marus – the districts should not have to agree with everything the Capitol dictates.

"So, what do I do? I keep thinking of ways to give the districts some flexibility. They vote already on rebuilding efforts. Some of them advise me. But none of that is consistent. Participation is not mandatory." We fall silent, thinking on the problem and just enjoying each other. "I think too many people agree with me here."

"What?" I hear Marus say sleepily.

"Everyone is passionate and they all want to be involved. But they all are rebellion supporters. Snow's former cronies won't even talk to me; they won't let me know what their agenda is. I need advisors who can see both sides and who disagree with me more than trivially."

"To lift a quote from dinner tonight, _that is treason_." Marus points out. I hear him sigh, "But I think it is smart. You need someone telling you some of the hard truths firsthand. You need someone to give you another viewpoint."

I nod, sleepily against his chest. Luckily I know just where to start. "Marus, would you be able to take a little time off and come to District 2 with me?" I feel him drop a kiss on top of my head.

"Of course."

I tell him I love him. It almost doesn't bother me when he doesn't answer.


	22. Alliances & Allegiances

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 22: Alliances & Allegiances

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I awake to find Marus sitting in bed reading. It must be early because the light comes through the curtains as silver rather than the rich gold I have come to associate with Capitol sunlight. I blink a little and watch the light reflect off of his reading glasses. His face has an expression of intense focus, the same expression he wears during almost everything he does. It's one of the reasons I like to sneak in things that are unplanned that cause him to laugh – his focus and planning are assets, but I love to shake them up a bit. He must love it too as I find him laughing more and being more spontaneous.

The juxtaposition of his reading glasses and his naked chest makes me laugh a little, a rusty morning sound.

He puts his reading materials down on his lap and looks at me over the top of his glasses. "You're awake."

"Mmmm. What time is it?" I stretch.

"Still early. The hovercraft doesn't leave for almost another three hours." He puts the files on the bedside table and tops them with his glasses. I almost tell him to leave the glasses on because I really love his quiet doctor persona. When he turns back, though, he's holding a box and frowning.

I sit up, immediately concerned. "Marus, what is it?"

He looks at the box thoughtfully. "I was going to give this to you before dinner last week. I've carried it around ever since, but it doesn't seem like there is ever a good time. I want you to have it. "When he looks up at me, his blue-green eyes are vulnerable.

Marus is never vulnerable. He is the most in control person I know. Yet he is obviously vexed. I take the box gingerly and put it next to me on the bed, then take Marus's face in my hands and kiss him. His frown clears. "What is that for? You do not even know what it is yet!"

"I'm kissing you because I love you. Because you got me a gift and it doesn't matter what it is. Because you are here with me. Did I say because I love you?" I laugh and lean in again for another kiss. I can feel his thumbs rub my clavicles where Marus knows I am ticklish.

When we come up for air, he leans his forehead against mine and whispers, "Please open it."

So I do. With his arms around me, the taste of him still on my lips, I open the box. On a bed of black velvet rests a pendant version of the Mockingjay pin. It is stylized and much more delicate than the original, but it is obviously a similar design. The Mockingjay is comprised of black and white diamonds. The bird holds an arrow of diamonds in its talons and a pink sapphire primrose in its beak. It is lovely both in design and it what it represents. I have never received a gift like this.

"Wherever did you find something like this?" My voice comes out soft, wondrous.

"Tigris helped me design it and have it made. Do you like it?" I hear that vulnerability again.

"It is beautiful." I take it out of the box and fasten it around my neck. "How does it look?" I feel the weight of it against my skin as I turn to him.

Marus looks from the pendant to my face, noticing my eyes are slightly wet. He nods, seeming to not have words. I see his throat work to swallow. He finally straightens the pendant then reverently traces my face with two fingers.

"You love me, don't you?" I ask him. If he is ever going to tell me, this seems like the right time.

He blinks at me a few times. I know I have said the wrong thing and I curse myself for needing to hear those words. I cannot believe I've ruined the moment. I turn to put the box away when I feel his hands turn me toward him. Those hands return to my face and draw me closer to him.

"Yes, I do." His eyes search mine, which I know must look shocked. He kisses me and I am too stunned to kiss back.

He leans his forehead against mine. "Brinna, I know you need the words. It is so hard for me to say them to anyone because Bad Things befall who hear those words from me. I would die if anything happened to you. "

"Then show me, Marus. Show me that you love me." I pull him to me and kiss him with my whole heart.

-Later—

"So what is the agenda for our trip?" Marus asks as we buckle into our seats.

"We are checking on the families who were affected by District 2's hostage situation. We are also meeting those who were injured to check on their recovery. I have a special conversation planned for the leader of the District 2 resistance." I am a little preoccupied with memories of Lilyah, Kreg, Commander Roe and the events that unfolded in District 2.

"I'm flattered you would have me along. Was there a special role for me to play?" I see the furrow on Marus's brow and decide to joke.

"I need you to look pretty." I laugh when I see his expression.

"You look pretty enough for both of us." His eyes drop to my lip s and I know he would kiss me if our harnesses allowed it. I think he's right: my boxy blue suits are now tailored. They all have pockets, but they show off femininity and strength that I did not think I had. My shoes even have a style to them, although they are still fairly sensible.

I grin at him and he grins back. It feels like the moment freezes in time. I can see years ahead with that grin echoing back at me. I see quiet mornings reading in bed, afternoons watching Marus coat the entire kitchen in flour as he tries to bake something, bare foot fencing lessons outside on crisp green grass in spring, the sparkle in his eyes as he steals cookies from my plate during late afternoon tea. I can see our future flash by in his eyes. He squeezes my hand and I can feel callouses on his that no one else knows exist.

The Mockingjay pendant is a sudden weight against my chest.

We land. The agenda says we are going to see the families from the hostage crisis first and then we will visit the rehabilitation center where the injured reside. My assistant hands out our seating assignments, distributes protective gear to the guards, and supervises the transition of supplies for the trucks that meet us. We transition from the hovercraft to the motorcade and proceed to the first of the three families – besides Lilyah's - which remain in District 2.

The visits are relatively short. I introduce Marus to thefamilies. Some of them I recall from the hostage event, some of them I have memorized from the dossiers prepared for me. I hug children and shake the hands of the parents, who greet us with a frosty welcome. I ignore the coolness, barging through with my inquiries about basic necessities, work and school. Despite the cameras that follow us on our rounds, this trip is not about being liked for me; this trip represents a debt that needs to be paid to these people and a trust in their government that was broken. That trust needs to be earned back with action and I am the best candidate to take on that work. Besides, this type of activity is not that far from what got me involved in the rebellion in the first place. Families need help and I have the supplies and logistical means to get what they need to their door. As a result of our planning ahead, and despite their half-hearted protests, we leave substantial supplies with each family.

I actually enjoy myself. At one point I climb up on a ladder to see the new roof that one of the families has completed. The parents have retrained as stoneworkers rather than trying to find work as peacekeepers. They are proud of their new trade. I watch my guards panic a little when I stand unprotected so far above them. Even Marus looks uncomfortable and I give him a little wave. I listen to the explanation of how the stone tiles are layered intricately so that there are no exposed joints. This allows the roof to be water tight. I nod at the ingenuity and trademark detail-work I see.

We wave goodbye and move on our way after telling the families that an emissary will check on them in a month. I want to keep tabs on these people because I am responsible for their plight. I can tell Marus feels the need to say something – his lips thin out when he holds back something he wants to say – but I shake my head. I am sure he wants to tell me that I cannot provide personal attention to every family in Panem. I do not want to hear that right now. Although he is right, I feel a special connection to these families and do not want to argue with him.

The injured soldiers' suites in the rehabilitation facility are the next stop. There were three injured from the unit we deployed into the hostage situation: Commander Roe, a medic named Robe and a soldier named Skot. Roe was the worst injured of the three.

Robe and Skot are sharing a suite and seem to have become fast friends, although neither was from 2 originally. They have not yet been cleared by "The suit" they call the doctor here and are clearly bored. I spy haphazard targets set up around the suite and throwing knifes fashioned from their feeding tray utensils. Marus seems interested in their utensil adaptations and asks questions about what tools they used to rework them into weapons. Robe and Skot are clearly ready for more active physical activity. I make a note to ask why they have not at least been put to work on some light rebuilding clean-up. When I ask them if they would come to the Capitol to celebrate our independence for a special ceremony, they jump at the chance.

Commander Roe was injured worse than the other two. Two bullets grazed his ribs and another shattered his calf bone. His calf is the reason that he is not fully healed. I hear that he will probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life. He is sitting in a chair when we arrive, his foot propped up in a walking cast. Something about his youthful expression and the way he rises to his feet to hobble toward us reminds me of Peeta. _So many children scarred from this war._

"Commander Roe, how are you?" I say warmly.

"President. I am well." He stands as close to attention as he can. I see his ribs are still giving him trouble because he breathes shallowly.

"At ease, Commander. Please have a seat. Do you mind if we sit with you awhile?" I can see a look of relief in his eyes. Although he won't admit it, standing up for long periods of time has to hurt.

He motions for all of us to sit down. To my surprise, it is Marus who breaks the silence.

"Tell us about your injuries and rehabilitation. How are you faring? What sort of exercises are they having you do?" I am surprised at the personal nature of the question and the fact that Roe has no trouble confiding in Marus. Despite the fact that Marus has people confide in him all the time, it still surprises me when I see him at work.

Roe describes the exercises while Marus and I listen. Marus asks him how much pain he is in, and I can tell Roe is deciding how honest to be. Surprisingly, he holds very little back. He opens up about treatments and prognosis, his frustrations at being inactive, all of it.

"So, Doc… do you think that I'll have a limp? They say I can't serve as a soldier if I have a limp." Roe looks down at his hands like it is the end of the world.

Marus clears his throat. "I am not your treating physician, Commander. I am just a scientist. However, I think that the Capitol might have some additional healing treatments that can be tried that may reduce the presentation of a limp." Marus leans forward and pats Roe's hand sympathetically, "Also, there are plenty of ways to serve even if you cannot be a soldier. Do not forget that."

I take that as my opening_. "_Commander, would you be willing to come to the Capitol for an independence celebration? We are thinking of commemorating Reaping Day with a remembrance day. What do you think? Would you be interested in being part of it?"

"Would I be able to do some of the treatments that Doc was talking about while I'm there?" Roe looks hopeful.

I look at Marus, who nods. "I think between the two of us, we could arrange it. Yes."

"Really?" Roe looks even younger than his twenty years, his dark hair falling over his forehead. "That would be great! Thanks, Doc!" I smile at the irony: I am president, but the sun rises and falls for this young man with my companion.

I laugh. "I'll take that as a yes, then. We'll get the arrangements started."

Marus says, "I'll talk to your doctors as well."

After our goodbyes, we leave the room. I quietly say to Marus, "Are you sure about those treatments?" I have not heard of anything like them.

Marus nods thoughtfully. "Yes. I am not sure if they will help Commander Roe, but they worked on Peeta. Do you ever wonder why it is that he does not limp?"

I hadn't really thought about it. Peeta's gait, though heavy, barely has a limp despite his prosthetic. I say so.

Marus says quietly, "Welcome to the healthcare of the Capitol. While districts have starving children and women dying in childbirth, the Capitol enjoys a level of care that can fix almost anything."

I tap my chin as an idea begins to take shape.

Our next and final stop is the suite where Lilyah, her son, Kreg, and her daughter are convalescing. Kreg was shot twice, Lilyah once, and even her Ama, her little girl, was hit by a ricochet. Ama was the most serious of the three, but I have heard that she is expected to recover fullyposted . There are guards at the door since Lilyah is considered a prisoner of the state for staging the hostage situation.

The guards knock for us.

"Come in." I hear the same commanding voice as in my previous visit to 2.

I walk in, not really knowing what to expect. Lilyah sits in a chair with her left arm immobilized reading to her daughter, who is in a mobile hospital bed. Kreg is also in a bed, but he is playing some sort of video game. It looks like a war game. I wonder if he has nightmares where he is unable to kill all of the bad people. I wonder if he thinks of me as one of the bad people.

I introduce Marus. Lilyah reciprocates by introducing her family. An awkward silence grows.

"As you can see, President, we are doing fine. The guards are keeping us fed and safe until we can be remanded to the Capitol. You can wipe whatever debt you think you owe us off of your conscience." Lilyah says, direct as ever. _Good. She hasn't lost her fire. _

"Lilyah, I was hoping that you and I could take a walk together. Are you well enough to take go outside?"

"Alone? Or are you bringing your guards?" Lilyah taunts me.

"Alone." I meet her eyes. I am not afraid of her.

I wait for her to rise and then follow her out. A guard makes to follow but I wave him off.

We walk for a bit. Her legs are so much longer than mine, so I have to almost trot to keep up, despite her injury. This is a woman who is used to being in peak physical condition and is tired of confinement. Finally, she slows in front of a window. I realize that the window grants her a view into the window of her suite. She is still watching her children, even from a distance. I am counting on that.

I catch my breath and finally say, "You don't like me. You don't respect my presidency. I get that. I am here to ask if you can put that aside. Or rather, are you willing to use your opinions for the good of Panem?"

She stays facing away from me. "Isn't that treason? Having an opinion that diverged from yours is what put me under the jurisdiction of the Capitol in the first place."

"Not exactly. Your actions, not your opinion were what got you arrested. To be more direct: yes, under the previous regime your words would have been adequate to get your killed as a traitor."

"So what are you asking me?" She finally faces me.

"Come to Capitol. I need advisors who disagree with me - people who are willing to go out on a limb and provide perspective for the people whose opinions I do not share. Are you willing to provide Panem with the balance it needs?"

Lilyah gapes at me. "You must be kidding." When I shake my head, she asks, "Why?"

"Because you love your children. Because you would rather kill them yourself than let me hurt them by ignorance. Because you raised a hero in Kreg, so you must be doing something right. Because if I can bring Panem together, I need a balanced viewpoint and no one in the Capitol has the guts to give me that viewpoint. You do. Come with me. You can live anywhere you like in the Capitol. I will even let you move into the mansion if you want. Just please, say yes."

She just stands and stares at me and then turns toward the window.

I finally put the one card on the table that I have been holding back. "Of course, all charges against you will be dropped. We will erase the entire hostage incident from your record. You will be free to do whatever you like, whenever you like."

"What is the alternative?"

I knew she would not come easily. It's one of the reasons that her coming at all is so important. "We take you all to the Capitol. We put you in prison. We take your children away, split them up and they never see each other, or you, again." It is distasteful, but it certainly gets the point across; I could take away her world.

She does not turn from the window but her voice is strong and steady when she answers. "We will come, then. But I need to know that my children will be protected, no matter what you decide to do with me. "

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Lilyah, you have my word. I will have documents drawn up as soon as we are back in the Capitol securing their future and yours."

She looks at me and smiles. "You may regret this, you know."

"No. I don't think I will. This is exactly what I need – exactly what Panem needs."

I hold out my hand. When she takes it, albeit reluctantly, I know that I can count on her.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

_Is she insane?_ I watch her walk out of the suite without a guard. I rub the bridge of my nose. With all of the danger that she is in, I have to assume she knows what she is doing. Lilyah is a known treasonist, but perhaps Brinna is counting on the fact that Lilyah's children are here. I close my eyes and pinch my nose to combat the headache I feel coming on.

"Are you sick?" Bright blue eyes look at me from the bed. I walk over to the little girl and sit down next to her.

"My head hurts a little. Was your Mother reading to you?"

She looks at me, ignoring the question. "Would you like to borrow blankie? It's very soft. It helps me sometimes when I feel sad. I almost lost it once, but Kreg got it back for me." She smiles at her brother.

I take the pink blanket and rub it against my face: it is soft and it does make me feel better. I close my eyes and clear my mind. _Brinna knows what she is doing_, I think one more time and then let the thought.

Ama's blue eyes are clear and curious. "Why are you sad?"

"I love someone very much and I do not want anything to happen to her."

"My Mommy loved my Daddy very much. He went away and it made her very sad. I get sad when I think about him sometimes too." Ama nods sagely.

"Love is stupid. All it does is hurt people." I hear a voice from the next bed. Kreg looks to be about 16 and his voice is full of disdain.

"And yet you saved your sister, so you presumably love her. Do you feel sadness when you think of your Father?" I ask him.

"I saved my sister because I did not want my Mother to dishonor herself. Who are you to ask me these questions?" The entire family has a startling directness that is not unwelcome. I prefer the direct approach to the politicking of the Capitol.

I open my mouth to reply when a voice comes from the doorway. "He is Doctor Aurelius and has treated such famous patients as the Mockingjay and Peeta Mellark – the Star Crossed Lovers of District 12." The voice is bitter.

I turn my head and spy Assistant Director of Special Weaponry, Gale Hawthorne. I recognize him from District 13, where he was always seen with the Mockingay or with the Victor Beetee. He has been on numerous TV spots. With his dark good looks, young face and physique, he is remarkably unscathed from the war.

"Peeta Mellark?" Kreg laughs. "He could not even defend himself against Cato! He is a weakling. Commander Roe is braver. He says that I can train with him when he gets back to being a soldier."

I nod at Kreg. "Being a soldier is an honorable thing."

That seems to surprise the Assistant Director, who looks at me more closely. "Where is the President?"

"She is taking a walk with Mrs. Grisson." I do not want to say too much while we are in front of the children, so I approach him and speak to him quietly.

"She took a walk with a traitor – alone? And you allowed it?" His gray eyes assess me.

_What an upstart, _I think. "The President has her own opinions."

"Opinions that might get her killed. You should be guiding her, not letting her walk into a trap." He frowns at me.

I refuse to argue with him on this. I trust Brinna's ability to judge situations and adapt; it is why I voted for her. Why would I treat her differently now that I love her? "Assistant Director, is there message I can pass along to the President?" I hope my own message is clear: _this topic is closed._

He runs a hand through his hair, still full of frustrated energy. "No. I'll wait."

We watch the children in silence. I find the power of silence an effective tool in drawing others out. It is also helpful when I do not want to speak to someone.

The Assistant Director starts to tap his finger on his leg, which probably means he is going to say something. I noticed the same behavior in Katniss - she would save up energy and then express her energy in a rapid burst. I wonder if the two were close because of their similarities.

"Have you heard from Katniss?" The Assistant Director asks much more quietly. It almost seems like he is ashamed to ask.

"Yes." I do not feel like I can disclose more without giving up privileged information about my patient. Perhaps Katniss is not ready to share that information widely, yet.

"Is she…is she ok?" He looks down and away from me.

_He is definitely ashamed. _ "Yes. She is recovering in District 12." Again, I provide a bare minimum of information.

"And he is there with her? Peeta? She is there with him and not alone?"

"Yes."

He mumbles, "Well, I guess that is better than nothing."

"Assistant Director, you appear to harbor a dislike for Peeta. May I ask why?" I am curious. I realize that Peeta is not liked by everyone, but he is an affable young man. To have this strong a reaction must mean something.

The eyes that meet mine are bright with intelligence and very guarded. "I just don't understand why she chooses him every single time."

"Your wording 'chooses him' implies a selection. Who else is there for her to choose?"

Anger darkens his face. "She chooses him over me."

"You made the choice to be here, not in District 12."

His eyes drop. _Is that guilt?_ "It's complicated. She thinks I killed her sister."

"Did you?" I am curious to see if his guilt is tied to the death of Primrose Everdeen.

He sighs. "I planned the bombs. Beetee and I planned them." He closes his eyes for a moment, like the memory is painful. "But I didn't build them. I didn't know that they would be used to do…what they did. They were not my bombs, not mine alone." His eyes open, energy and anger flooding them.

"Yet you are here and she is there making choices. What do you envision would occur if you returned to District 12? Would the outcome be different?"

"I don't want to go back to District 12! I don't understand why she did something that got her banished back to that place! She could have lived anywhere! Been anything!"

"She chose a future that did not—could not - include you. Is that a larger betrayal than choosing Peeta?"

He glares at me. I realize I have overstepped my boundaries and apologize. The Assistant Director is quiet.

"I can't talk to anyone about this. Sometimes I think about it until my head hurts. I have a good life here, a new life where I can take care of my family. My Mother doesn't need to work and Rory, Vic k and Posy are happy." I can almost hear the implied notion, _ I should be happy too._

"Assistant Director, let me pose a question: if it were up to you and the candidates were lined up in front of you, who would you chose? On the day Katniss shot Coin, who would your choice have been if you held the bow?"

Again, he bristles at the insinuation. "Are you questioning my loyalty to the President?"

"Not at all – your record of service is beyond reproach. I am posing the question as a hypothetical. Perhaps Katniss decided in that moment that any future except the one represented by President Paylor was unacceptable. She wanted a particular kind of future and took it. Not unlike you creating your life here."

He thinks for a moment. "So you are saying that her choice was less specific than I make it out to be? She did not chose to hurt me?"

"I am saying that her choice is not about you at all. She is learning to live with the outcome of that choice. And she does not have the luxury of a new place and a new role."

The Assistant Director looks out the window to the sky. After a while I hear him sigh. "Doc, if she needs anything…if you hear anything and she needs help, she can still count on me."

I nod and think back to Peeta's words, _she has no idea the effect she can have._

He clears his throat, back to business as usual. "Will you please let the President know that we have located several mutt facilities?" She will know what that means. Have her contact me directly for more information."

"I will pass it along. " I say.

Assistant Director Hawthorne takes his leave. I return to the children and read a book to Ama, then play a shooting game with Kreg. He beats me.

The entire time, my mind races with thoughts of mutts.

**(A/N: This chapter was a monster! We're looking at 3 maybe 4 chapters left. I have a feeling some of them will this long because there is a lot of material to cover. Please - if you have thoughts on the structure, writing or characters, let me know. Thank you for reading!)**


	23. A Brewing Storm

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 23: A Brewing Storm

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

It has been another long day of debating with my advisors, discussing the mutt facilities that the Director of Special Weaponry Beetee and Assistant Director Hawthorne have discovered. Beetee and Gale have made a great case for keeping the mutts alive; they believe they represent a great deal of research and continue to have weapons potential. They also may provide clues into things like health research. My advisors concur with them, while I do not.

I am ready for a nice, quiet supper with Marus. I'm sure I will need to go back to my office afterward but I need something to provide a respite from the day. My heart jumps a bit when I see him and I give him a kiss. He laughs, eyes shining.

"What was that for?" He kisses me again.

"I missed you today."

He holds my chair out for me and then slides it in when I sit. I wonder at the origin of these gestures – the ones that make me feel so special – where do they come from? Are they native to 13? Marus's alone? All of the little thoughtful details he puts into our time together make me smile.

"Rough day?" Marus sits across from me and begins dishing out the dinner that someone has placed on the table. I realize that I take for granted the source of all of my meals. _I'm losing touch with my roots. _I shake off the thought and come back to his question.

"Yes. Plutarch wants to do a show featuring cage matches of different types of mutts – he calls it _Mutts Unleashed—_I am not happy about it, or about letting Beetee and Gale have access to the mutt facilities. I want to know why we need to have these sorts of creatures as weapons when we're so close to the total decimation of the population already."

Marus thinks for a moment. "I can see wanting access to that sort of research. There is such tremendous potential for new weapons, new health advances. It would be fascinating to study them."

I shoot him a look of disdain. "Now you sound like my advisors. Everyone agrees that it is a good idea."

"Even Lilyah and Lilac?" When I nod, he laughs. "I cannot believe they agree on something."

"I know." I grin at him. Lilyah has created some waves since coming to the Capitol. None of my advisors liked her initially because she argues with them. The Welkins are her favorite opponents and she finds something to contradict of theirs every time we convene. I still admire her spunk and she has become a fierce advocate for groups that I had not considered prior to her arrival. She and her family are staying at the mansion, which has been a source of both fun and consternation for us. On the one hand, it is fun to run across Ama or Kreg in the hallways. On the other hand, Lilyah has a certain whirlwind energy that drains me when I run across it regularly.

"I can see how it would appeal to the blood lust some people still have."

"Are you agreeing with Lilyah too?" I laugh.

Marus's face becomes introspective. "No. No, I am not. Some of those beasts have human DNA mixed in, do they not?"

I nod. "We believe so."

"It is much like the Hunger Games – it is subjugation of a different kind. How do we know what those animals have in terms of feelings and conscious thought?"

I sigh and rub the back of my neck, fighting off the headache I feel coming on. "I'd rather figure out if we can use the meat to feed Panem rather than cage them and let them fight to the death." I do not want to consider the angle Marus has just put forth. _Another Hunger Games, just of a different sort. Where do we draw the line? _I shudder. I can feel the headache grip my head like a vice. I put my fork down, my hunger gone.

Marus looks at my plate. "I know you are worried about the districts. Not eating does not feed them." He looks at me, a challenge in his intense blue-green gaze. "Brinna, what would you do if you could do anything? If you could just close your eyes and make something happen, what would it be?"

I know this is probably one of Marus's therapy questions, but I close my eyes and think of an answer anyway. "Feed the districts, somehow. Get them health care. Increase the population. Stop young children from having to work. Give people hope."

"Pick one – which one do you think is the most attainable?"

"I don't know. They all seem pretty far-fetched right now. If we had more trains or other transports, food and healthcare would be the most likely candidates. How would we make either of them happen?" I swirl my fork absently in noodles with roasted nut and butter sauce.

Marus takes my hand, which lies between us on the table, and squeezes it. "I do not know how you would make it happen. You have a team of advisors to help you get that part figured out. I do know that you are the president and have accomplished an amazing amount of rebuilding in a short time. I might almost go so far as to say that you can accomplish anything."

"I love you." I squeeze his hand back.

"I know. Now tell me about the Independence Day celebration plans."

So I do: I talk about Plutarch's idea for airing commemorative footage of all former Hunger Games tributes. The end of the day will culminate with a ceremony in each district – we've been calling them _Spotlights on Bravery_ – where people from the districts who were nominated for acts of bravery during the war will receive Order of the Mockingjay medals. Every District has at least one medal winner. Lastly, I explain that Kreg, Commander Roe,and soldiers Skot and Robb have arrived in the Capitol and are being prepped to receive their medals.

Marus asks about the recipients from 12 and 13 – 12's population is so low now that we had to work to find recipients. Marus is concerned that we might have Peeta or Katniss up for it. I tell him that we are only recognizing Gale Hawthorne and Haymitch. Haymitch has already informed the Capitol to take the medal and shove it, so Gale will stand alone. Thirteen was easier to find award-winners: Boggs, Homes, Jackson, the Leeg sisters, Mitchell – those from the Star Squad who did not survive.

I think of Boggs's little boy. I know that no award will give him back his father. Marus sees my faraway look and interprets it as exhaustion and I do not explain to him that it is not exhaustion but numbness. I fear that, no matter what preparations we make to turn Reaping Day into a day of solemn celebration, it will not quiet the misery of the districts. Nor, I fear, will it appease the unrest of the Capitol.

Marus comes up quietly behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes, then drops a kiss on top of my head. "One step at a time, Brinna. Keep the picture in your head of what you are building and take tiny steps to get there."

I laugh, but it is a tired laugh. "That is your best professional advice, doctor?"

"It is advice my father used to give me." He leans my head back and kisses me. I touch his face, wanting to hold him there and lose myself in him for a little while longer. When we break apart, I sigh longingly. Marus laughs at my sigh as he leaves the room.

I stay behind and stare at the fire, watching it make patterns. _What is the Panem I see in my head?_ I think about the dreams I had as a child and the stories my parents told, passed down from their parents from before the dark days. I know what I do not Panem to become but it is obvious that I am plugging holes in the infrastructure without a plan for the overall. _What do I want Panem to become?_

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

Something is off with Brinna tonight. I have seen her get like this only a few times in the months we have been together but it seems to be happening more frequently. I wish I were more adept at helping her through it. Her problems, though, seem so much larger than any of my experience. I tell myself that my focus is to keep her safe and she will figure out the rest.

I make my way to Kreg's room and knock lightly. I am taking him to see Commander Roe. The commander is undergoing treatment for his leg at the same facility that houses my office and Kreg does not yet know the Capitol well. I have taken to spending a day or so a week with the young man. I tell myself it is because I need to ensure he is not a threat to Brinna. If I am honest with myself, though, I do it because I see a great deal of myself as a teenager in the young man.

He answers the door and I see past him to a very neat space, devoid of any personal artifacts. It could be my room back in District13 rather that Peeta's space of a few months ago. Peeta had splashes of color and drawings on the walls and rarely had the windows coverings shut. Kreg has the shades drawn so the lighting is dim and no posters or pictures of any kind in evidence.

We make our way to the facility. Kreg is already my height but his legs are longer, lankier. He moves with a fluid energy that I have come to recognize in his mother. He does not speak much since coming to the Capitol but when he does it is a frank and open factual discussion rather than any sort of emotional interaction. When I ask how he and his sister are faring, he answers that they are adjusting. I ask if perhaps he and his sister would like to go see the horses. He thinks that Ama would be interested but he politely declines for himself. We fall silent.

When we reach Commander Roe's room, I stall and prep him on what he will see. Although I mention that Roe will be in a fair amount of pain, he shows no emotion. It reminds me of the time that Boggs broke his arm during training and I went to see him. I had acted unaffected but had admitted many years later that the sight of my friend in so much pain had bothered me greatly.

We are not disappointed. Although Commander Roe looks happy to see Kreg, his eyes are clouded with pain. He looks sweaty and uncomfortable, like his skin is too small for him. The treatment is similar to the treatment they gave the Mockingjay for her ribs in District 13 – it forces accelerated mending of the bones. They cannot give him pain medication at the same time because it contraindicates the effect of the medication. In other words, Roe must go through this alone and in pain.

Kreg settles in. After some small talk, I see the pain in Roe's eyes and know he is trying to put on a good front for our young friend. We talk about the Independence Day celebration: Roe seems genuinely interested in the plans for the day. Kreg, on the other hand, scoffs at them. Even the award of valor that he is receiving almost seems to mean nothing to him. Roe and Kreg get argue over it, with Kreg deferring to his older friend. The argument seems to sap all of Roe's energy and even Kreg cannot help but see how tired the Commander is. He begrudgingly agrees to say goodbye.

"We'll come tomorrow, yes?" Kreg looks back at Commander Roe's room.

"If you like." I say. "I am happy to come again."

"But you don't have to stay. I bet that's why he didn't talk much. It's because he doesn't know you." Kreg says defensively.

There it is again, that fiercely protective and independent streak. It makes me smile a little, like looking at an old picture of myself.

"My office is in the same building. If it would make you more comfortable, I can walk with you and then show you where my office is. When you are done visiting you can come find me." I keep the smile out of my voice so he does not interpret the gesture as patronizing.

He nods, then says, "Do we have to go back to the mansion right now? I'm bored in there." He shoves his hands in his pockets like he is not sure what to do with them.

I think of what I know about Kreg. He likes video games. He seems fairly active. He is from District 2. Immediately a thought comes to mind and I know just what to do.

We are standing in the room that Brinna and I turned into a training room. I have Kreg facing a target and am teaching him how to throw knives. He mentioned that it was something he had not done in his home district. It takes a lot of mental concentration and fortitude as well as some physical force to do this and I hope it is something that will challenge him.

"Focus on your target. Center all of your energy on it. Breathe in and out. Breathe in and draw your arm back. Breathe out and throw from the shoulder. It should be one fluid motion from the shoulder, not the elbow or wrist. Try it. Do not forget to breathe."

Kreg takes a few practices without a knife, then picks one up. I see him feeling its heft. He adjusts his stance and focuses on the target. With narrowed eyes, he draws his arm back and lets the knife fly, but it goes wide. His next throw hits the target but does not have the force to stick.

"You're not breathing. Breathe in, breathe out and throw." I mimic the motion. "It should feel natural."

He practices with several more until he is consistently hitting the target. I can see the smile playing on his lips. "Where did you learn to do this?" He asks as he continues to throw at the target. His aim improves as he gets used to the weight of the knives.

"In 13 we had even less to do than you do in the president's mansion."

Kreg laughs. "Aren't you a doctor? Weren't you saving lives or studying something?"

"I was studying girls, mostly." At his incredulous look, I defend myself, "I was not always this stiff. My father was a soldier. My best friend's father was a soldier. My best friend wanted to be a soldier… I wanted to be a soldier." I shrug.

Kreg stares at me in disbelief. "What happened?" He asks, like what befell me was a horrible fate.

I stare at the target, seeing our training facility back in 13 and my friend Boggs daring me that I could not beat him in hand to hand combat. We had to call it a draw because neither of us would yield. I was bruised for a week. I can see his smile the next day when we both showed up for training almost too hurt to walk.

I focus on Kreg. "There was an aptitude test and my best friend scored higher on the physical portion. I thought I would get back at him by doing well on the written exam. I did not know at the time, but one of the problems on the test was something our own scientists were trying to figure out. My anwer to that question caught the eye of our leader and I was recommended to the science program."

"I wouldn't have gone." Kreg says with the conviction of youth.

"Alma Coin was very persuasive." I had not wanted to go. In the end, I had to be coerced using my family as leverage. I can feel the old familiar pain as I think of my father and the broken man he became. It was almost a relief when he died, although my Mother did not feel that way and followed him soon after. I like to think it was due to a broken heart and not something more sinister.

Alma had the very power of life and death over those in District 13. It was an important lesson to learn while one was under her rule.

Kreg snorts his laughter. "As persuasive as Paylor? I see the way you two are together. She has you wrapped tight like a peacekeeper's boot!"

I consider Kreg for a moment, taking in his youth and energy. He still has a tremendous amount to learn about people and about life. I am in his personal space in a heartbeat and it takes me only another second or two to disarm him. His eyes go wide at the briskness and speed with which the knives move from his hand to mine.

My voice is calm and quiet when I speak. "I gave Brinna my support willingly because she gave me a choice. Personal choice is more binding – and more powerful - than someone dictating to you." I pause and consider his size, his agility. "Do you know how to use a sword? I have not had someone to spar with for several months."

Kreg just stares me at for a moment, as if wondering how I came to be so close to him. He looks warily at the knives in my hands, shaking his head like he is not sure how they moved from his hand to mine.

"Are you sure you're a doctor?" He asks.

I smile, showing my teeth. "Not everyone puts all that they are on display."

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

The district delegates are talking through the problem of bringing Capitol quality healthcare to the districts with surprising equanimity. We've broken up into smaller teams with each of them set to give their ideas after lunch. I walk around the room and think to myself that it is not that different that group learning assignment at the high school level. The thought makes me laugh to myself, but I am sure the delegates would not be amused.

We eat, then return to the room and talk through everyone's ideas. We come up with our plan: we will outfit two hovercraft to act as mobile hospitals. They will need to be retrofitted with the help of some talent from Districts 3 and 6. Those districts agree to work together on the project, along with some oversight from the Capitol's medical personnel. We break into sub teams – 3 and 6 and the Capitol while the rest of us plan the circuit that the new hospitals will take once they are active. The time flies by and it is soon late afternoon.

One of the delegates asks for status on the District 13 disarmament. The District 13 delegate, an apologetic fellow who reminds me not at all of Marus, says there has been no change. Immediately the room erupts with anger.

"Their borders are still shut and they will not comply with a presidential edict. Keeping them in the alliance is nothing but a sign of weakness. I say we take action against them." The delegate from 2 says.

Four agrees. "They are a boat anchor to our resources. They contribute nothing and yet we are expected to care when they have needs."

The delegate from 13 says, "We have no needs. We are self-sustaining."

"All the more reason to remove you from the union." District 2 rejoins.

"They have not had any of the same pain as the districts for the last 75 years. It's not fair." District 11's delegate chimes in.

Boron Welkin says to the delegate from 13, "Your district will not disarm which is an open act of rebellion against the current government. Are you sitting before us, asking the rest of us to believe that your district is not plotting to overthrow the new government of Panem even as we speak and turn our resources to your own gain?

District 13's delegate goes pale. He stammers, "I am not saying that we are rebelling. We are simply not yet in a position to comply.

Boron's eyes burn with intensity. "When will compliance occur?"

"I-I'm not sure."

I hold up my hands to stop the bickering. "District13 should hear this warning: the new government has given then a deadline. If they cannot meet it and have not negotiated a new deadline, we have no choice but to see it as an act of outright treason. You have heard the opinions of the other delegates. It should be made known to Leader Steev that dissension will not be allowed on this matter."

"I will make it clear to him."

"Good." I say.

As we adjourn for the evening, Lilyah approaches me. She is not a delegate, but my advisors are allowed to sit in on proceedings and participate. She wastes no time in making her opinion known. "You should eradicate 13."

I straighten some papers in an effort to gather my thoughts. "We cannot afford to lose more lives."

"Their lives are not worthy – the district is not honorable and is breaking its word!"

I meet her eyes calmly. "Lilyah, I appreciate your opinion. Thank you. At this time, I believe we should give them until the deadline before we do something drastic."

She leaves and I see Boron Welkin hanging back as well. I look and say wrily, "You have an opinion on the matter as well?"

He straightens and nods to the door where Lilyah has departed. "You are going to regret bringing her into this."

"The road to our future is not all downhill. I need to hear divergent opinions. I thought you of all of them would understand that."

Boron laughs. "Oh, I understand it. I also know it's got to be exhausting, especially having her live here in the mansion."

"It is. The only bright part of the arrangement is the children – Ama and Kreg break up the hostility. Kreg and Marus are sparring partners now." I laugh as I think about the nights when Marus climbs into bed sore from fighting with the much younger boy.

"You're joking."

"No. Marus can barely move some nights. I think he feels badly for the boy being alone so much."

Boron points out, "He would not be alone so much if he were not so prideful and tried to make friends. Lilac might be willing to have him spend time with the children if he weren't so…"

"Full of attitude? Sure he was better than everyone else?" I laugh. I know Kreg's faults because I have spent time with him. He is not unlike the students from my class, most of whom are dead. I honor them by giving Kreg a little extra consideration. "He is a brave young man. That alone is enough for me to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, we're not here to supply him with friends."

Boron's smile disappears slowly. "Brinna, there is word of another assassination attempt coming. Reaping Day is upon us and it would send a message to the nation if the head of new Panem were to be removed from office. We should post extra guards, at least until the first Independence Day celebration is past. "

"Boron, we have heard this talk before. I grow weary of having to watch my back continually. It keeps me facing backward and not forward. Do we know who is behind the threat?"

"We are investigating if it is related to District 13's refusal to disarm. That is our best guess so far. You will allow us to post extra guards, though?"

"Just until Independence Day." I nod curtly, dismissing him.

District 13 would be so bold as to openly thwart the President and then threaten her directly? That does not seem plausible. I think back to my meeting with Steev: he seemed as if he was trying to be progressive for his own people. It is like discovering that a student who is doing well is cheating on a test: of what benefit to 13 is threatening the nation?

I sigh, wishing I could discuss this with Marus, but knowing that I do not want to put him in the middle. This is my burden to bear, at least until the threat is past and he and I can laugh at it together.

**(A/N: Two more Chapters left! Thanks again to Lady Raksha for allowing me to borrow the Welkin family for this story.)**


	24. Suspicion

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Chapter 24: Suspicion

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

The bright lights overhead make me blink. _Where am I?_ The light flickers and I swear I can feel it behind my eyelids. My head and shoulder throb in unison as if a Capitol train is running through them, keeping time with the flickering light. I am cold; I move to cover myself but there is nothing with which to do so. I am lying on a gurney in nothing but a hospital gown with a bandage covering my shoulder. The bandage pulls with my movements and a fresh stab of pain jolts through me, bringing recent events back to the flooding back…

_-Two days earlier-_

I stir my tea, thinking back on my conversation with Katniss from earlier today. She continues to phone me regularly, which is a sign of recovery. She has asked me to ship her some supplies so she and Peeta can begin some sort of "memory book" where they will record all of the things they do not want to forget. On the one hand, I believe it to be a great idea – it will help both of them confront memories that they may have been avoiding. On the other hand, I continue to be concerned for Peeta. His attacks are still frequent in District 12 and he sounds worn down. I fear that recalling people and events from his past will further tire him and make him susceptible to triggering.

Katniss does not talk much of Peeta. What I know of their time together I hear from Peeta himself. Peeta continues to challenge her to establish a routine of her own. While she seems to flourish having some sort of conflict to rise above, Peeta talks less and less of his own journey back to himself. He tells me that cleanup is going well in 12. He participates because it gives him time away from Katniss and helps him to feel useful. The state of the district – bodies are still being collected, and some of them are children– makes it difficult for him, so he tries to stay to the areas that have already been cleared.

His conversations center on coping day to day and getting from one episode to another and we discuss medication to help turn him back onto the right path. He sounds disinterested even in that and I wonder if perhaps it is time to talk to Haymitch. I make note of it in my book as a task for tomorrow.

I sip tea, glad for the break from my patients. I have not slept well since Independence Day. The day itself went as planned (Plutarch and Effie made sure of that) but shortly thereafter the assassination plot was traced back to a visitor from District 13. A Coin supporter masquerading as a rebel, he was found with guns and explosives in his quarters, as well as maps and a full event listing for the President and her cabinet. His motive, apparently, was anger over the release of the Mockingjay after the assassination of Coin.

I stare into the distance. Something about the discovery does not sit well with me; the accused is unknown to me despite the fact that the members of Alma Coin's inner circle were my colleagues. He could have come after my departure from 13 and acted irrationally and alone, but that was after Coin's leadership was over and the timing just seems illogical. More disturbing is the fact that, although I have communicated my distrust to Boron Welkin and Brinna both, they seem satisfied with the answer that District 13 is behind the assassination plots. They are planning to send additional peacekeeping forces to my former district in hopes of eradicating any further counter-rebellion. I am torn by this development: my home is here now and yet I can see the faces of Boggs's son and his friends. I cannot stomach the thought of escalating tension that might harm those children.

I vow to talk to Brinna again. _Later, _I think. _We will talk through it. She will approach the problem with her focus and sense of humor and we will puzzle it out, together._ _We have all the time in the world…_

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

Independence Day went off with only one hitch: Vixen Welkin, nominated for bravery from District 5, had her award pulled at the last minute. Her parents were understandably concerned about the attention that it would bring to their family. Being descended from a persecuted Victor's line makes one especially wary of that sort of public attention. Still, I saw the girl's face: she lost those closest to her in the war and I think could have used the affirmation from someone that we grieve with her. None of us is forsaken, even if we wished that we could switch places with those we loved and lost.

I admit to a small feeling of elation when Plutarch and Effie had a fit over the last minute change.

The event in the Capitol was solemn and lovely. Plutarch had the names of the winners for the Capitol in a Reaping Bowl – the first and only one to have Capitol children names placed in it. Calling their names and recognizing their families sent a message to the districts that we are on level ground no matter our district. Feedback from the district representatives reflects the well-received nature of the event.

All of the districts are even, save one. District 13 never participated in a Reaping. District 13 had no civilian casualties during the conflict. District 13 refuses to disarm. District 13 refuses to pay reparations in the form of trade with other districts. District 13 is upset that we allowed Coin's killer to go free and is, apparently, trying to kill me.

All of those things are factual except for the last one, if I believe Marus. _Why would he lie?_ If I believe my advisors, Marus would lie because he is in on the plot. Some believe he has always been in on a plot by 13 to topple the new government. He was assigned to get close to me and to influence me to be lenient while 13 continues to plot against us.

The problem with the whole thing is that my gut tells me that Marus is not lying. I can almost hear Lilyah snorting and telling me that is not my gut talking but my weak-willed heart. She can scoff all she wants: my gut led me to the truth about Alma Coin, led me to trust the Mockingjay and even helped save Lilyah's own daughter. In short, my gut is not usually wrong and it is telling me that Marus is innocent. I close my eyes and think of the larger fear – that there is a larger plot and someone is trying to throw suspicion off of themselves and onto him.

I rub the back of my head, the pounding pain from my headache gripping it like a vise. I would like nothing better than to curl up in front of the fire, wearing my cat pajamas and listening to Marus read something. Instead, he and I are promised to attend another one of Plutarch's opening nights. This one is the singing show he threatened to launch right after Coin's assassination. He is calling it, "Can You Sing Like a Mockingjay?" It features talent from each district; the winners from the district auditions get to come to the Capitol where they practice with professionals and then perform in front of three judges. Each week, one of them gets eliminated until there is only one winner.

I shudder a little at how much like the format of the Hunger Games it is. _At least no one gets killed, _I think to myself.

I make my way back to my rooms, ready to dress for the evening. I draw a bath, hoping it will soak some of the headache away. I use the bath salts and lotions as advised by my prep team. Although they are not here because openings are "minor events", I do not want to embarrass them by looking anything but my best. Besides, the regimen is a habit now. I sigh and sink lower into the fragrant water, leaning my back against the tub.

My thoughts go to Marus and it's like I conjure him to me: suddenly he is leaning against the door to bathroom, watching with me with a wry smile. The smile fades from his face as he sees whatever is written on my face. I hold out my hand to him. He closes his cool hand over mine, lifting it to his lips and kissing each of my fingers tenderly.

"Marus…" I croak, my eyes suddenly filling with tears. I do not like the suspicion that divides us. I do not think I could survive confirmation that we never really were a couple and this was all a plot_._ _What if he never wanted this? What if he never loved me?_

"Shhh," he orders. "We have all the time in the world to sort this out. For now, I just need to show you how much I love you."

He stands and takes off his jacket. After looking at me for silent confirmation, he continues to disrobe and I watch the body I know so well unveil itself through half-lidded eyes. When he slides into the water, I glide over to him and the two of us fit together as if we were made only for each other.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

-_Present-_

I half-groan, half sob at the naiveté that Brinna and I were going to be left alone and free to be together. _How could I have been so foolish as to underestimate the threat?_ I struggle to sit up despite the fire that runs along my right side when I move. I stare at the bandage, which is crusted with blood and badly needs to be changed. Bruises bloom along my ribs below it. By the color of them, it's apparent that I they are several days old. I grip the bandage and pull it in one forceful tug from my skin with gritted teeth. The adhesive pulls little bits of skin, dried blood and scab with it. I am rewarded with a look at the sloppily sewn sutures holding the edges of a gunshot wound together. The light hits the sutures, which glisten wetly, edges of the wound puckered and red. I briefly concern myself with the risk of infection or blood poisoning, then push the thought aside. I doubt that whatever happens next will include the Capitol allowing me a lingering death from either.

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes. _Brinna, _I think, _are you safe?_

_-2 days earlier—_

We ready ourselves for another night of public appearances: Plutarch is opening his singing program, finally. "Can You Sing Like a Mockingjay?" is sure to be as horrible as "Mutts Unleashed". Still, Plutarch has a way of holding his audience captive in such a way that they cannot look away from the show. Brinna is looking lovely in a vivid blue dress. I jokingly tell her that the Capitol's love of rainbow colors is finally rubbing off on her. She twirls for me and the blue of her dress floats out around her knees like the petals of a flower. Her eyes flash, the corners crinkling as her laughter rings out. I grab her hands in mine and kiss her, thankful that she is mine and that the moment has brought us almost back to normal – back before talks of 13 planning something and before all of the suspicion.

I don my jacket and pat my breast inside pocket. Brinna sees the motion and smirks at me, then takes my hand. I squeeze it and we depart, ready to take on the Capitol.

The audience is full of Capitol citizens. They still look fairly well-to-do, despite some of the hardships the war has brought on them. I wonder if they can even fathom the trials of the districts. Plutarch's slick propos where he shows the healing and rebuilding do not linger on the darker side of human nature – the darker side that I know must make the districts a far cry from the hopeful places that he portrays.

The lights dim and music starts: I recognize the tune but cannot place it. Just then, video plays of Katniss running through the woods during her first Hunger Games and I realize the tune is one she sang during her incarceration. My stomach sinks further as the show continues and I realize that Plutarch has built an entire program around district citizens trying to out-sing Katniss. Each contestant has prepared one of the Katniss's songs and the judges then vote on whose rendition is better. My already low opinion of Plutarch drops another few notches.

I hope that neither Katniss nor Peeta are watching television.

I can tell Brinna has detected my incredulity at the new low to which Plutarch has sunk. She puts her hand over mine and squeezes, but I pull away. _Did she know about this? She was the only person who could have authorized giving him the tapes from Katniss's time in detention._ I cannot help but hope that Brinna was not involved in what could very well be an unrecoverable setback for Katniss.

The show mercifully ends and the audience claps. Brinna and I rise to make our way back to the mansion. We do not speak. I am striding down a hallway so quickly that I almost outpace the guards that now precede us everywhere when I feel Brinna place a hand on my arm to slow me.

"Marus, stop." She pleads. Her eyes are full of concern. "Look at me."

I stop. A tremor of anger shakes me as she turns to face me, blocking me from going further. Her guards have disappeared around a corner. It is quiet, just the two of us.

"I did not know. He never told me what the point of the show was and I never thought to ask. Did you think that I might have something to do with it?"

I nod, once, not trusting myself to speak.

"After all that you have done for her and all that Peeta has gone through – that we all have gone through to save her – why would I do something to hurt her like that?" Her brown eyes search mine.

I do not have an answer. I can feel my face pull taut in the emotionless mask I used to wear in 13, back when I could not trust anyone but Boggs – back when feelings did not matter. It feels too tight, like I have outgrown it since being in the Capitol.

She tightens her hand on my arm. "I know we are both suspicious of each other right now. We can work through this and learn to trust each other again. Don't shut me out."

I stare at her as her beautiful brown eyes implore me.

I see something out of the corner of my eye. Perhaps I see nothing at all and it is the silence that gives me the first clue that all is not as it should be. Whatever it is that puts me on the alert, I react on instinct, pulling Brinna backward to a small alcove. It is barely large enough for one body, let alone two.

"Where are your guards?" I say quietly.

She looks flustered, trying to figure out what is running through my mind.

"Your guards, they went on ahead. We have been stopped for quite some time and they have not returned." I do not add that we are in a long hallway with only two exits. It is a perfect trap.

I see the moment her befuddlement clears. Fear, then something akin to defiance chase across her features. I know that look: it means that she will do whatever she stubbornly believes to be right. We hear footsteps, deliberate and quiet.

"There are two of them." She motions to what was in front of us. I reach into my inside jacket pocket and she raises an eyebrow. "You need your glasses?" I show her the knives in my hand, which gleam menacingly. She shoots me a look of disbelief and then kisses me, hard.

I smile at the ferocity in her eyes.

My breathing is erratic so I work to slow it down. I close my eyes, envisioning the perfect throw: concentrating on the feel of the knives, the air as it flows around my arms, the motion of the muscles. I listen for the quiet footsteps coming toward us. Ours is the only one hiding place. I grip a knife in each hand, hoping that their reflexes are slower than mine. Breathe in. Breathe out. Step closer to being seen. Square my shoulders. Breathe in, breathe out.

I take my throwing stance and step into the hallway. The first knife is away before the duo react to my presence. The second knife is away as the first shot explodes from the assailant's gun. I duck back into the alcove as pieces of hallway rain down on me and pull two more knives from my pocket.

I step back into the hallway which is now cloudy with dust. I hone in on the groaning men: one is lying on his back, a knife in his throat. The other is gripping his right shoulder, his hand slick with blood. He sees me as I walk toward him and scrambles for his gun with his left hand. I am not quite close enough to kick it away when he grabs it and raises it toward me. I freeze.

"Drop the knives." A gruff voice, full of pain, says.

I look at the man holding the gun. His left hand is slick and looks like it is unfamiliar with the trigger. I say warily, "You know you have no options. Even if you kill me there will be guards here any minute. Drop the weapon. If you agree to talk to me about who sent you, we can work…"

A gunshot from behind me drowns out my next words and a small wound blossoms on his forehead. Our assailant falls over, dead.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

"What were you thinking?" Marus and I are back at the mansion. He is pacing the library like a caged animal as I watch with concern. Marus does not pace, not ever.

My tone is defensive and sarcastic. "Thinking? I was thinking that you didn't want to get shot. You should be thanking me."

"I had the situation well in hand. We needed him alive so we could get to the origin of the threats on your life."

I snort. "Well in hand? Oh, that's right – the knives. And where did those come from?"

"I always carry them with me." Marus shrugs.

"Always?"

"Always. I make sure I have them before I go anywhere. I keep them in my inside jacket pocket." He demonstrates by pulling out a small protective pouch where the knives he did not throw tonight reside.

"That's where you carry your glasses. Aren't you checking to make sure you have your glasses?"

"Why would I need to do that? Have you ever known me to leave my glasses anywhere?

I shake my head, like a total stranger is standing in front of me. A knife-wielding stranger. "I am sorry for not thinking beyond danger you were in. I saw the gun in his hand and I just reacted. It did not dawn on me that would we would need someone to question."

"Where did you get the gun?" Marus says. He sounds tired, like the adrenaline is wearing off.

"Lilyah and Tigris gave it to me as a gift the last time…the last time something like this happened. Tigris even made me a special leg-holster. I'm glad they did." I stride over and grab at his arm to make him stop for a moment and look at me. His blue-green eyes collide with mine. "I couldn't lose you. Not when I had it in my power to save you." I touch his face with my fingertips, lightly tracing his cheekbone.

Marus leans into my hand. He touches my face tenderly and I hear him say, "Brinna, I would rather die by your side than live anywhere else." We stand like that for a few moments, each drinking in the other, seeing in a new light.

A knock interrupts us and a guard says, "President Paylor, we need to come in." Marus and I break apart and take a seat on the couch, sure that the guard brings news of the attackers.

The guard opens the door. Surprisingly, Lilyah is with him, a stern and unyielding look on her face.

"Did you find out anything about the assailants?" I look at her expectantly. She, however, is not sparing me a glance. I look from her to Marus. He seems as taken aback by her entrance and demeanor as I do.

Finally, she answers. "We did. The assailants are connected to District 13. We believe that they were fed information as to the most vulnerable spot to attack. Isn't that right, Doctor?"

Marus meets her eyes. I watch a muscle in his jaw tighten. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

"You had the means, proximity to the President and even the connections to be in on this plot. You were probably the inside person all along."

My laugh rings out. "Lilyah, you are joking. Marus would not hurt me. He put himself at great risk tonight to keep me safe."

Lilyah's eyes do not move from Marus's. "He knows you better than anyone and has access to all sorts of information about your whereabouts. He has done nothing but work to get into your inner circle. He is from District 13, which still remains unpunished for refusing to disarm. Hasn't he been the one lobbying to keep 13 from retribution? When your advisors wanted 13 to pay for expanding the train system, he was a vocal opponent. Even though he is not an advisor or an elected official, he has more influence on your decisions than anyone else. Not even Plutarch holds the same level of sway.

I stare at her for a moment, then turn to Marus. I know the minute he sees the doubt creep into my eyes because his own narrow slightly. It's like he can almost see the images my mind keeps playing of me sharing confidences with him, talking to him about District 13, or getting advice for how to handle situations like disarmament and penalties. I think about what happened tonight and see it with new eyes – perhaps my dying was not the point of it. Perhaps the idea was for Marus to defend me and cement my trust in him. Either way, live or die, it would be a win for District 13.

If that is truly what happened, then he did a great job of manipulating me. _Is that what happened? Is the Marus I thought I knew a complete lie?_

I look at Lilyah and it dawns on me that she is wearing a sidearm. She un-holsters her weapon and points it at Marus. He blinks twice in shock.

Lilyah's voice rings out as she announces, "Dr. Marus Aurelius, you are under arrest for complicity in the attempted assassination of President Brinna Paylor. Come with us peaceably or suffer further consequences."

**(A/N: So this was originally going to be two chapters. Then I decided one giant one. I have flipflopped back to the original idea of two Chapter and a short epilogue.)**


	25. Wounds

**I do not own The Hunger Games**

Chapter 25: Wounds

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

"Sign it." Boron Welkin slides a pen toward me, gesturing to the document that already sits on the table.

I stare at it. "This is a kill order." I am not surprised, but I feel a stabbing sensation in my heart all the same.

Boron and Lilyah nod. Boron explains, "We have to stop the threats against you. The only way to do that is to show that we will retaliate with punishment that is certain, swift, and severe."

"This is a kill order _for Marus._" I meet their eyes one at a time. Boron's face shows sympathy and determination. Lilyah's eyes are steely. Plutarch cannot meet my gaze. "Marus did not try to kill me."

"He was complicit in the attempt." Lilyah speaks.

"We don't know that for certain." My voice wobbles. I hate it.

Lilyah crosses her arms. "He resisted arrest and I was forced to shoot him. Are you saying that does not indicate guilt?"

I close my eyes and see flashes of that night: Lilyah raising her weapon, Marus looking shocked, telling her to get that thing away from me. When he reached into his jacket, Lilyah must have assumed he was going for his knives. The sound of the gunshot, the jerk backward of Marus's body, the flash of panic exploding when I thought he might be dead all reverberate in my head.

My eyes open when Boron interjects, "The districts are already upset because we allowed the Mockingjay to go free after killing Coin. It is anarchy. Brinna, he consistently rejects this government's policies with regard to his home district. We must set an example."

"Disagreement is not a crime." We have had this debate before.

Plutarch chimes in, "Brinna, we all know how you feel about the doctor. But the Capitol hears how he disagrees with you. If the end of your love story has an unhappy ending, we can use it to our advantage. This may be the perfect opportunity to separate yourself from him and garner some sympathy from the districts." There is a pause as he lets that sink in.

Lilyah has more to say. "Did you know about the knives? He slept next to you for how long and you never knew about that part of him. What else do you not know? How do you know that one night you won't wake up with a knife to your throat?"

I can't answer her. Instead, I drop my eyes to the paper in front of me, thinking of all the times Marus had opportunity to hurt me and didn't. _Lilyah is wrong_, I think to myself. _But the assailants knew you would be in that hallway, _a little voice refuses to be silenced inside my head. _What if he told them? What if he has been feeding them information? It would not take much, Brinna – a meeting here, a note there. How well do you really know the people with whom he spends his days? _I close my eyes and see a different Marus, one who seems fearless even in the face of imminent threat. This Marus wears a face I barely recognize and holds a knife in each hand.

I pick up the pen.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

Lilyah stands inside the doorway to my cell. I am not sure when she arrived, and know that I have been successful in immersing myself in my own world. I remove my arm from where it covers my face, blink slowly and sit up. The pull of the stitches in my shoulder reminds me to keep movement to a minimum.

When she sees how slowly I am moving, Lilyah asks sarcastically, "How's the shoulder?"

With my feet placed flat on the floor and my eyes adjusted to the light, I finally speak, "You should know since you are the one who shot me and then stitched the wound. Neither very well, I might add."

"We can't all be high-powered doctors. It will close up well enough, if you live that long. She signed your kill order, Aurelius – you should be dead in a week."

Pain detonates in my heart, sharp and debilitating. I have to close my eyes briefly to wrestle it back: this is too important for me to miss details. There will be plenty of time when I am alone to take apart each emotional horror and examine it.

"What happened?" I imagine that Lilyah will be only too happy to cause me further pain but I have some driving need to know what has happened.

"President Paylor has decided to make an example out of you. Since your friends from 13 who attacked her are also dead, you will follow them."

"That decision must make you happy. You have never much cared for me."

Lilyah laughs. "I have no time for men who betray the trust of their women. You lured her in and used her emotions against her. You have no honor."

"I did no such thing. Ask yourself, Lilyah, what would I have to gain from a change in the government? According to you and Boron, I had influence already. What would I gain from my district leading Panem? And who would do the work? Leader Steev? Sure, he is progressive. But all of his soldiers are gone. Why would he jeopardize the people that are left in his district without any way to defend them?" I pause, knowing there is a more personal reason for Lilyah's feelings. "I did not betray Brinna in the way you feel your husband betrayed you."

I know those words are the wrong thing to say when I see her spine stiffen. "You might have wanted to lead the government yourself. You're certainly smart enough. All men want power and glory."

I laugh and it comes out of my more like a harsh bark. "Smart? You think it only takes intelligence to lead a government? You have not been paying attention. Brinna is smart, but she is also a leader of people. She genuinely cares for the districts. She can negotiate and understands when to back down or when to push forward. She is totally committed to Panem. Why would I want to lead when she is the best one for the job?"

"She can't hear you, doctor. And even if she could, she won't save you."

I sigh. "Lilyah, I would not ask her save me. What sort of consort would I be if I were always asking for favors? Let me ask you again, who benefits from me being gone? You will need to figure that out quickly because, whoever it is, they will capitalize on Brinna being even less protected. I think the lesson from the other night for all of us is that guards can only do so much to keep her safe. You should be planning for that, not here talking to me."

"That doesn't really sound like you are pleading for your life." Lilyah sounds confused.

"You just said it would do no good. I am asking you to remember the reasons we fought this war."

Lilyah explodes. "You didn't fight! You were secreted away, doing whatever it is that doctors in District 13 do. Hiding, probably. Like a coward."

I refuse to let her words get to me, although I feel a pang when I think of Boggs fighting while I stayed in behind. "I did not have a family like you did. And I did not fight in battle. But if the choice to fight for the current government or stay behind was put in front of me today, I would gladly fight. I would rather die than have the President believe me to be a traitor. Besides, I have no life without Brinna in it."

"Feeling melodramatic, are you?"

"Lilyah, Alma Coin took my family. She laid out a structure in my district where there was nothing but obedience. Life was the same every day without any variation, until the day you died. President Paylor has a dream for Panem – a dream where laughter and partnership and hope abound. I would rather die than lose that. I am asking you to respect that dream and to protect her. No matter what your personal feelings are, I know that you want a better life for Kreg and Ama."

"Do not speak the names of my children." Lilyah looks like she would shoot me again if she had the chance. I realize I have pushed her too far when she says, "I disabled the cameras before I came in here, hoping you would talk to me frankly. Now I am glad that I took the time. "She rises purposefully and wields a small device that looks like a pen. It glints rather more sinisterly, the tip of it silver and very sharp. I stare at it, calming my breathing and clearing my mind for whatever comes next.

"President Paylor trusted you. I trusted you. My son trusted you. This is for each of us. Perhaps it will make you re-think your protestations of innocence and finally tell me the truth." She stalks toward me.

When she forces my sutures open and probes the wound in my shoulder, I realize that my mental preparation may not be enough for the searing heat that overtakes me.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I sit at my desk staring out the window, finally letting the fatigue overtake me. I have been moving non-stop since Marus was taken, trying to work through – or outrun – thoughts of him. I find myself successful right up until I get ready for bed. At night thoughts of him surround me and crash over me, keeping me awake most of the night. I miss him. I imagine his arms around me and have taken to sleeping in his shirts so that I can still smell him. Even his side of the bed is now mine.

The dark circles under my eyes are back with a vengeance.

I listen to my advisors berate me daily for leaving the kill order unsigned. All of their arguments are logical but I still cannot bring myself to sign it. Through the darkness each night, the one thought that sticks with me, pounding in my chest as surely as my heartbeat, is that letting him live is the right decision.

My assistant walks into the library and announces my next appointment– Effie Trinkett has come to see me. I wonder what would make Effie come to call, and then shrug mentally. I am sure that it will not take long to discover.

"Good morning, President Paylor!" Effie's sing-song voice jolts me back to the present. She is wearing a lime green suit and lavender hair. Her hair matches the potted flower she is carrying in one hand. Her makeup is perfect by pre-rebellion standards but stands out as a little too garish now. Still, I feel rumpled and dowdy in my navy blue suit despite its perfect tailoring. I randomly wonder how long it takes her to get dressed every morning.

I notice the thinness of her shoulders, and the vacant look in her eyes makes me wonder what medication she is taking. I deliberately make my voice warm. "Good morning, Effie. To what do I owe this charming visit?" I motion for her to sit.

Effie puts the flower down on my desk. "I have never expressed proper gratitude for being granted a position as an event planner. It is so _good_ to have a purpose again!" She gestures that the flower is meant for me.

I smile at the emphasis she puts on the word _good_. "You are more than competent at the position and there is no need to thank me." I glance at the flower, noting the lovely petals with the deep violet center. The violet reminds me of my dress the night of Peeta's exhibition. The gap between then and now yawns widely.

Effie continues, "You and Doctor Aurelius are too kind to have so much faith in me." She must see the flash of pain on my face because she says, "I was sorry to hear about your unfortunate mishap and the Doctor's questioning."

I nod, looking at my desk and feeling my throat close in the face of her kindness. I have girded myself against questions and attacks from my supporters for days. Effie's single act of understanding and kindness has me acting like a baby and I take a moment to recover. The silence extends between the two of us until I am composed enough to meet her eyes.

"You obviously know I am a patient of Doctor Aurelius. I was hoping that, while he is detained, I could gain your permission to visit him? I do not want to be selfish, but I cannot trust my health to anyone else. I am sure you can understand."

I look at the woman sitting before me and think back to her when she came to District 13: she is almost a completely different woman. I know that is due to Marus. _How many other people am I dooming if I sign the kill order?_ He has helped more than just me in the time we have been in the Capitol.

"…That adorable girl Vixen Welkin – so unfortunate that her hair is so very red and she refuses to wear a wig, don't you agree? She gave me a book she thinks will interest him. Vixen said something about translating some old diary and it having information about Tracker Jacker venom. She thought it might help Doctor Aurelius treat Peeta. I am sure he must be bored, don't you think?"

Peeta. I had not thought of Peeta or Katniss. If I kill Marus, what happens to the strides they have made in their recovery? I picture Marus in his kitchen, covered in flour feeding me bread. His enthusiasm that day for his breakthrough connection with Peeta was palpable. I know with certainty that there is no other doctor in all of Panem who will have a hope of saving them.

I stare at Effie until she clears her throat. I meet her empty eyes. "I'm sorry, Effie. My thoughts carried me away for a moment. I think it would be lovely for you to visit him. He must be tediously bored and would welcome the company and the reading material as the investigation continues. I will notify his guards that you are to set your own schedule."

She smiles at me. "Thank you! Do you anticipate the investigation taking much longer? I would imagine you are looking forward to his release. I had heard an unfortunate _rumor_" – she says that word with distaste – "that he might be put to death!" She wrings her hands and grasps them to her chest.

I sigh. "That is quite an unfortunate rumor and is completely untrue. I am sure the investigation will conclude soon. We have Panem's best investigators on it," I tell her. The truth is that I receive an update every day on the investigation and there is much more conjecture than fact at this point. Even without the kill order hanging over both of us, his incarceration may be lengthy. I am thankful that Lilyah has agreed to look out for him and keep him safe.

She claps. "I am sure it will be good to have him home."

I nod, wishing it were that simple and he could just come home. That I could feel his body next to me and hear his laughter. _What would it take to make that happen?_

Effie rises with an exclamation about taking too much of my time and thanks me again. I barely hear her.

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

I fear my wound is becoming infected: the skin around it is taut and red, and the wound itself weeps almost constantly. It throbs in a way that makes me nauseous. I block it out by forcing myself to do physical activity. I perform some stretches, breathing deeply and concentrating on each muscle grouping. Holding my arm as immobile as possible, I take a swordsman's stance. I imagine Lilyah coming toward me and imagine a sharp, thin sword in my hand. I lean toward my imaginary target, breathing past the roiling waves of pain radiating from my shoulder. I force myself to concentrate.

The opening of the door is not expected. Even more unexpected is my visitor, Effie Trinkett. I stand uncertainly in the middle of my cell and stare at her, as if I am imagining things.

"Hello, Doctor! Oh dear, you are wounded! Has a doctor looked at that?" She is staring aghast at my shoulder, as if she sees me half naked and pretending to hold a sword every day.

I recover myself, standing upright. "Effie, it is good to see you. I do not believe my wound is a priority for anyone but me right now." _How did she even get in here? _

Her lips purse in a tight line. "We will have to see about that."

Before I can stop her, she whirls out the door. I sink back onto my cot and rest my head against the wall. _What could she possible be doing?_ I am surprised she would come to this facility, especially given her own, similar experience. The doctor in me is pleased to see her facing and conquering her fears.

The wait does not seem long when she herds several young men into the cell. One carries a chair another has medical supplies and a third has warm water, clean clothing and towels. Effie guides them in front of herand they send sheepish looks my way while she berates them. Although the scene before me makes me want to laugh out loud, her words leave me chilled.

…"You did not think to check on him even though his cameras were off? Of course he needed medical aid. He could have bled to death before anyone noticed! I cannot imagine that President Paylor would appreciate her guest being treated in this manner."

_Guest? _Perhaps that is how Effie thinks of it. Perhaps thinking of me as a prisoner is too raw for her – too close to her own recently healed wounds.

Supplies delivered, she hastens their departure with the same brisk efficiency. "Please leave the cameras off during my therapy session. Doctor Aurelius is helping me to heal and President Paylor herself has authorized these sessions. "

I wonder if Brinna knows that Effie is here. I cannot believe that the guards would allow anyone here without authorization.

I thank her for her efforts once the guards have left and begin to clean the wound. Effie bustles toward me when she sees me wince and then exhale slowly. "Effie, I can do this."

"Nonsense, Doctor. The angle alone will be difficult." It is my turn to be chastised.

She helps me hold the edges of the wound together so that I can apply adhesive sutures. I have forgotten how pragmatic Effie can be. I see the scars on her hands that have not yet been eradicated by skin treatments where someone peeled her fingernails and most of the skin away. She is particularly self-conscious of those scars. I am convinced that they are the reason she still insists on wearing heavy makeup on her face: she must feel that it compensates in some way to put on a perfect face. Her eyes seem slightly less vacant, though, and her touch is firm and steady. She seems more than she has in most of our sessions.

She pats my hand when we are through binding the wound, then sits. It dawns on me when she produces a pad and pen from her voluminous purse and hands them to me that she expects us to have a normal session despite the circumstances.

Surprisingly, we do. It almost seems as if the cell location actually helps Effie talk through some of her feelings and recent progress. I see her becoming stronger almost before my very eyes and her eyes remain lively and engaged the entire session. By the time we wind the session to a close, I realize that I may be seeing the pre-rebellion Effie Trinkett sitting before me.

As she collects her things, she asks if I am looking forward to going home when the investigation is complete. Her question brings me back to reality with what feels like a kick to the head.

"Effie, I do not that that is going to happen." I talk softly, knowing that it may take the light out of her eyes when I say the next sentence. It is important that Effie learn the truth and it seems fitting that it should come from me. "President Paylor has authorized me to be put to death."

Effie's eyes go wide and then she does the unexpected – she laughs. The sound is high pitched and melodious. It is not at all the sound of someone who if fractured beyond repair. I frown.

"President Paylor assured me that she is looking forward to your return as soon as the investigation concludes. Soon we can resume our sessions in your office!" Effie claps. She picks up her bag. "Oh, I almost forgot. That delightful Welkin girl gave me a book to pass along before she leaves for District 5. She said that it may help you to determine a cure for Peeta!"

Effie continues to ramble about how she planned Vixen's trip to District 5 along with Kreg's trip back to District 2.

…"Such an honor to be able to plan events for our young heroes, don't you agree? I am sure that Lilyah is upset that her son is leaving – she has seemed rather cranky lately. But young birds need to spread their wings and I am so delighted to be part of their first flights from the nest. They both leave tonight!"

I barely hear the discourse of the trip details. Kreg leaving the Capitol could very well be the reason that Lilyah was so aggressive. _Or she could be in on the conspiracy to take over Panem._

…"I will leave the book right here on the chair. You should take a look at it right away – Peeta is a national treasure and we should do everything we can to help him through his recovery. I am going to tell the guards to check on you again. The ones today were so nice – don't you agree? – I will see if they can do come before their shift change. Since they are already familiar with your condition, they can determine if additional medical attention is required. We mustn't have that wound getting infected and jeopardizing your return home!" Effie stops at the door and looks back at me as if she has something more to say. Instead, she waves cheerfully and totters out the door on her incredibly high heels.

The silence settles over my cell like a tomb. I make my way to the book, a frivolous Capitol journal covered in orange suede velvet and studded with gemstones. A bright orange ribbon hangs out of the pages, obviously meant as a bookmark. Each end of the ribbon is capped with a gold charm - one is a heart and the other is a horse. Here in the Capitol, this is the journal of a girl. Back home in District 13, Alma Coin did not have anything nearly as fine.

Stuck to the back of the book, as if held there by static or something from Effie's purse, are two pieces of paper: one lists Kreg and Vixen's itineraries, including departure times and locations for tonight. The other paper is a map to my cell through the underground labyrinth of this facility. It must have been how Effie was able to find my guards and locate my cell for her visit today. Doodled in in the margin of the map is a series of small and large primroses, sloppily drawn.

I hope that Effie does not need the pieces of paper. She has been forgetful since we started her on her anti-anxiety medications. I make a note to discuss a medication adjustment the next time we talk and then sit on the chair to begin reading. I open the book and stare in amazement.

I will not be discussing medication with Effie Trinkett anytime soon.

I am leaving the Capitol tonight.

-The next day-

I meet Leader Steev outside the doorway to District 13. I am travel weary, rumpled and bruised. I can still feel the throbbing in my shoulder as a constant reminder that my heart still beats. He eyes me warily, especially given the red-haired girl standing next to me. I stand as straight as I can, extend my left fist downward and move my right fist as close to my left bicep as it will go without reopening my injury.

His expression clears and he returns the salute. "Welcome home, Marus."

"It is good to be home, brother."

He motions to Vixen Welkin. "You must tell us of your adventure and of the company you keep."

"We have travelled all night. Might we have a dispensation from the kitchen?" I keep my voice soft, the way we are taught in District 13. There is no need for excess emotion, for loud speech or laughter.

We go below and I explain, "It was as easy as the games we played as children: I waited for the guards to check on me, disabled them using the weapon slipped into my cell with Effie Trinkett's visit, followed the map out of the facility, boarded Vixen Welkin's hovercraft and took control of it."

"So you are back and all is as it should be." Lijah Steev leans back in his chair, clearly pleased.

I shake my head. "No, brother. Since District 13 has not disarmed and I am a fugitive, I fear that Panem's President will send troops. We are weak in number here and vulnerable."

Vixen interrupts, "Weak in number, but not in strategy. Once my father knows I am here, he will work to keep the President from using force."

I stare at her, suddenly understanding why she did not struggle when I took over her hovercraft. Vixen Welkin, it would seem, is used to being a pawn. Like Effie Trinkett, she may have some surprising insights because of that.

I walk her to her quarters and question quietly, "Why would you agree to be a pawn?"

Vixen shrugs. "I thought it might be time for me to work on my issues. You might be a fugitive, but you are also the best head doctor in all of Panem. I thought we could make a trade."

"I use you as a shield for my District and you get therapy?" I say thoughtfully.

"Well that and I get to see what you do with my Grandmother's journal. I'm pretty sure you can't resist trying to cook up a cure for Peeta."

"Am I that transparent?" I smile.

She considers me. "Not in all things, Doctor. Not yet."


	26. Epilogue

**I do not own The Hunger Games**

Chapter 26: Epilogue

**-One month later-**

**Marus Aurelius's POV**

_Boggs and I are outdoors, watching the recruits train: Peeta looks good, strong and able-bodied. We watch the Mockingjay watch Peeta with a mixture of awe, grief and distrust on her face._

"_Do you think she'll fight him?" I ask. Peeta is still too unstable to fight the hijacking well enough for whatever Alma Coin has planned._

"_No way." Boggs shakes his head. "She loves him. She may look like she wants to kill him, but she won't do it." _

_I laugh. "I've seen the way Emeli is with you – Are you saying she wouldn't hurt you if I gave her the chance?" _

"_Hurt, yes. Kill? No." Boggs laughs and then quiets. "Marus, it's going to be bad. If you are telling me that the boy is too unstable to control himself, then I will have to protect them both. If Soldier Hawthorne gets there first, Peeta will be dead for sure. _

_I do not answer, my eyes trained elsewhere on the field. Boggs follows my eyes past the training soldiers. "That's Commander Paylor." _

"_Who?" I feign. I already know the basic specs on the woman who stands across the field. _

_Boggs smacks me in the shoulder. "Don't give me that; I've known you my whole life. That's the look you get when you see something you especially want and you won't give up until you have it. You want inside information? OK. She's a great shot. Lost an entire hospital – friends, family, soldiers – and she hasn't lost her mind yet. I know plenty of men who would have started wetting the bed and sucking their thumb after that." He stops and gathers his thoughts. "She knew immediately how to play it with Alma – she does as she is told, keeps quiet. You mark my words, she is hiding a steel spine. She's smarter than I am, too. Now that I think of it, she might be the perfect match for you – smart and stubborn." _

_We laugh._

_His smile fades. "Marus, I'm serious. If you decide to try for it, give yourself a chance. Don't over-think it. You could use a good woman who keeps you in line."_

Dreams of Brinna have kept me up half the night and I am in a horrible mood. The next morning, Vixen's questioning is relentless. "You love her, right? It wasn't just an act?" She asks me this question at least once a day.

I rub the bridge of my nose, "It's complicated, Vixen."

"No, it's not. You've convinced Steev to disarm sixty percent of the nukes. Most of District 13 is now ready to participate in reparations. I would think that would be the job of the delegate from this District, but it's been you who have pushed for those things. I don't think you would be doing those things if you didn't care about her."

"Those things are required for District 13's safety."

"I think you're trying to prove you're worthy of her. I think you are still on her side." Vixen's gaze is frankly assessing.

"Vix, will you leave him alone? We're going to go train." Kreg is impatient, as always. Vixen asked him to come to 13 shortly after our arrival. I still cannot fathom why – the two of them obviously do not get along. What was more surprising was that he came when she asked. The only hypothesis that presents itself is that Vixen brought him here as an additional reason for Brinna, Boron and Lilyah to leave District 13 in peace. _Why would she want to help me? _

We are almost to the door when her voice stops me. "What if I said I could clear you? You wouldn't be a fugitive anymore. You could be together."

Kreg and I continue on our way but her words haunt me.

**Brinna Paylor's POV**

I stare at the file in front of me, my stomach roiling. I know the contents will give me the answers I desperately need and put to rest all of the questions I have about Marus's involvement. _He's gone, Brinna. Dead. Knowing the truth won't change that either way. And if he was innocent…I am not sure I can live with myself knowing that I brought about his death through my inaction._

I close my eyes and grip the primrose mockingjay medallion tighter: I've worn it every day since he was killed. _He would not have been imprisoned if you had stood up for him. He would be beside you, where he belongs instead of killed during an escape attempt. _These thoughts have been in my head ceaselessly since the day Lilyah told me that he was gone. They keep me awake at night, keep me from eating, keep me from feeling anything but pain. I battle back the sobs. If I give in to one, I know that I will be lost.

I cannot afford to fall apart again with an emergency delegate meeting this afternoon to decide how to hold new elections for the open positions created by the findings of the investigation. The guilty parties are being held pending an evidentiary hearing and the new government of Panem must go on, as must I.

I rub the pendant again and close my eyes, thinking of how I want to be remembered someday. I do not want it to be as the killer of innocent men, or as the tragic President who lost her way when faced with loss. _What does my Presidency bring that Snow's did not? What makes me better than Snow or Coin? What do I have to offer my citizens? My government is made up of elected delegates with so little power that they plot to kill in order to obtain more._

My eyes snap open with a crazy idea. If it works, it will stop the attempts on my life and give us a reprieve so that we can build something out of the smoldering rubble that is Panem.

If it doesn't work, I am dead. _I am dead inside either way. _

I scribble some thoughts onto paper in a burst of energy. I scratch at the now almost invisible scar on my neck when I stop to gather my thoughts. I straighten the jacket of my blue suit. Touching the pendant one last time, I silently ask Marus to send me luck.

I pass Lilyah in the hallway and she tries to intercept me. We have not spoken much since Kreg left for his home District. Marus was killed that same night and I think we both have to grieve in our own way. I would like to bridge that gap with her, but today is not the time. I wave her off.

I am purposefully the last to arrive to the delegate meeting. I notice that Plutarch has cameras covering the event, despite the meeting being considered closed to the public. _Good,_ I think. Surprise may help me gain support for the idea I am about to put to a vote.

I stand at the table, pour myself a glass of water to let the noise around me quiet. I begin, "Before we get to the issue of replacing our delegates, I have something to say. Months ago, I was voted in as President of Panem. That vote occurred, not by a popular vote of the people, but by a hasty vote of those powerful in the rebellion. I have done the best job I know how to lay the foundation for a stronger nation full of hope for us all.

"Several attempts have been made on my life. I have come to believe that they neither occurred because of the work we are doing, nor my own personal beliefs but because of the fight for power itself. Perhaps those perpetrators were driven by fear of another tyrant, or just the uncertainty brought about by a new ruler with absolute power. Perhaps they wanted power that was theirs, but stripped from them. Perhaps they wanted power for the first time. Regardless of the rationale, I believe that we cannot be a strong nation and get down to the real work that needs to be done until we are past this struggle. We must work together to build the dream of a new nation, work together to overcome our losses, work together to triumph in a place where tomorrow means possibilities.

"To that end, I ask the delegates today to vote on a measure. This measure will put a limit on my presidential term: I will be president for seven years. Seven years is long enough for a man or woman to make an impact. It is not quite long enough for irreparable damage to be done to us all by one leader with totalitarian power.

"At the end of the seventh year, another vote will be held to determine my successor. That successor will lead for another seven years and so on. It is through this mechanism that the government of Panem will become a government for all people; one where we can all have a say and make a difference. As we move forward with a fresh start, let us consider that the future is wide open before us and we each are called to build the best one imaginable. Thank you." I barely take my seat before the onslaught of questions start.

Plutarch looks oddly pleased, like this is so much more than he could hope for in a propos. The delegates from the Districts mostly look shell-shocked. Several look intensely thoughtful. The questions are more energetic than they have been in months.

For the first time in a long time, I am full of hope.


	27. Acknowledgements

Some stories are born easily: well-formed, they come into the world quickly and effortlessly with bright colors and vivid action. Moving On was such as story. Building the Dream was not.

I would like to thank the following people for helping me stay the course through what was a long and arduous birthing process:

_Jeff P_. - For reading the earliest draft and asking the hardest question I have ever had to answer, "That's a great fluff story, but she doesn't really do anything _Presidential._ Shouldn't she be doing more for the country and have a little less free time? Why would her top priority be romance?" You didn't let me off the hook when my answer was, 'Because I suck at writing anything but romance?" For that, I thank you.

_Doc_ – For putting up with my Hunger Games obsession: reading the books, seeing the movie, and then proofreading my fanfics. Your input took Jeff's original comments and helped me be true to a Paylor and Aurelius that were worth writing. Thank you, also, for letting me base Aurelius on you just a teeny bit and giving me the names _Mutts Unleashed_ and _Can You Sing Like a Mockingjay. _You make me a better wife, mother, baker and writer.

_Mila_ – For giving me the basis for Lilyah and for freaking out when you found out that I shot her. You are truly the fierce mother that I depicted and your scenes were so fun to write.

_Emma_ – For being a great kid who put up with me writing at all hours of the day and night and for being the basis for the Ama character.

_The Readers_ – For reading! I think there are only about 15 of you, but you have stuck with this story for six months!

_The Reviewers_ – For reviewing: WaffleNinja, Ursa Major II, Revenha, Hilariter, MissyRissy, Lmc123, Leightheterrible, ForFutureReference and Lady Raksha. I know it takes time to review and I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. You provided great insight that let me craft a better story. I read the reviews repeatedly, especially when I hit a bad patch – sort of like mental Lamaze. I wish each of you happy hours of reading and writing.

_Lady Raksha_ - For loaning me the Welkin family. I hope I was able to do them justice. Thank you, also, for your encouragement through those rough patches and for just checking in on me when I took November off to do Nanowrimo. You were the first to let me trade characters with you and you didn't freak out when I told you my plans for Vixen, which was so amazing.

_ForFutureReference_ - For paying me the highest compliment – Paylor lives on!

**Feedback:**

I am always happy to hear feedback because I write fanfic to become a better writer. I would especially love to hear what you liked or hated about this story:

Plot – not climactic enough, not clear enough, didn't hold your interest, more love scenes, less love scenes? Did you feel robbed of the ending? Too many unanswered questions? Should have been over 25K words ago?

Characters – hated em? Loved em? Wanted to strangle Plutarch too? Did I make him too evil? Does my dislike of Gale make him come out too stilted?

POV – Flipping POV mechanism (too confusing? too poorly written? Couldn't distinguish the voices from the two of them?)

Writing mechanics – anything about the style annoy you? Did you find Marus hard to read? Did my sentence structure become too pedantic?

**Background on the Story:**

_Voice:_

This story was supposed to be a short-ish middle love story. I wanted take "Moving On" and tell it from another point of view.

_Story line:_

I could not get the idea of Aurelius and Paylor meeting in District 13 out of my head – they were there at the same time and we hear almost nothing about Paylor after the hospital is blown up. Was she part of Coin's inner circle? Did she know Boggs? I had to believe Boggs and Aurelius knew each other, since both were part of Coin's inner circle and 13 does not seem that large. Even if they did not know each other well, they both protect or serve the Mockingjay. Add Peeta to that mix and there has to be some sort of contact.

A friend (that had not read Moving On, and was unfamiliar with The Hunger Games) read pieces of this story. Jeff is an economist who writes fiction as well. He found the love story less interesting than the socio-political angle. His critique challenged by perception of what this story could be. In the course of one week, I found myself significantly altering the plot arc and scope. It forced me to trust in the characters rather than just playing with POV and an established plot arc.

I changed the story into something that encompassed Panem healing rather than focus on these two souls who find each other after the ravages of war. The goal was for Marus to become more human and take some risks for Brinna to adopt some of his strengths. Even Marus's speech was planned as very stilted and moving to something more fluid. I'm pleased with how he turned out – especially his core of steel where he has a bit of the soldier in him.

_Characters:_

I was also going through a rough time at work. I needed to characterize the "me I wanted to be" into a leader that was in control and successful. Brinna took shape during that time. She grew on me, changing her style from one of control and competence with a little emotion thrown in to one of a much more mature team player who looks for creative ways to solve problems. She is maternal without smothering. She does not micromanage. She is faced with hard choices and is not afraid to make them, but she does feel the impact. She wears her heart on her sleeve and that is not a bad thing! She can protect herself, but still loves that Marus wants to protect her as well. For all that I think I did wrong with this story (and I really do stink at the socio-political-economic stuff), Brinna seems to have resonated with people. I am so humbled by that. She is so much more than I first envisioned.

Aurelius was based on my husband. Doc loves fountain pens and developed a habit of putting his in his breast pocket. Every morning this summer, I watched him pat his pocket to make sure he had it before leaving for work. Voila! The knives - I knew Aurelius had knives instead of a pen or eyeglasses in his pocket from the very beginning of this story. (Doc's face when he read the knife scene was hysterical because I had never mentioned what was really going on.)

Lilyah came about because I needed an anti-hero. I had the scene from 2 laid out just so I could show Brinna's ability to work under pressure and also meet Gale. I was going to shoot her and kill her (Paylor was actually going into 2 and was going to pull the trigger herself) when I realized that Lilyah could do so much more. I needed a lightning rod to condense all of the opposition to the new government. What better way to do it than with another strong woman? My husband kept asking me, "Is she in on the plot to assassinate Paylor?" He wanted me to leave it completely ambiguous so that Marus and Lilyah could be in on it or not and the reader would need to decide.

**What I learned:**

**Trust your characters.** Even if the story goes completely off from where you thought, it's ok.

**Trust yourself.** I stopped writing this because I felt like a failure at writing and at work and at home. I wasn't getting reviews, I didn't have enough readers… I just needed to trust my characters and finish their story.

**Don't stop in the middle!** I took a month off to write another story for Nanowrimo's Novel November. I almost lost the entire story arc because my momentum just stopped.

**Don't post one chapter until you are done with the one after it!** It is a great way to keep the momentum going.

**Keep good notes. ** Especially taking a hiatus, I had to go back and re-familiarize myself with Brinna and Marus. Notes helped make that easier. I wish I had kept even more detail written down somewhere.

**Finishing a story does not mean your characters are dead**. I went through all of December outlining the plot for the last 2 chapters but could not bring myself to write it. I was sure that meant that Brinna and Marus would be gone forever!

**Changing POVs and interweaving stories is hard. ** I am glad I did it and it was fun but it also meant that changing up the actual story arc made the difficulty level follow an exponential and not linear curve.

**Trivia:**

The name "Brinna" came to me in a drea, - it was a variation of Brianna. I don't remember the dream, but the name stuck.

The name "Marus" came to me because I kept thinking his name should be Marcus Aurelius. Marcus evolved into Marus because so many of the names in THG seem to have evolved with extra letters or misspellings from 20th century names.

Brinna's blue suits are based on a boxy blue suit I own. Doc says makes me look like a police officer because it is just so boxy and unflattering. I also wear very no-nonsense shoes to work (Bass Weejuns) and love pockets.

I listened to a lot of Chicago (I've been Searchin' So Long, Color My World) during the love scenes. Howard Jones Dream Into Action album was also a staple. Building the Dream is loosely a reference to that title.

Brinna's interview references a quote, "I made quilts as fast as I could to keep my family warm and as pretty as I could to keep my heart from breaking." That quote is actually an anonymous pioneer woman's quote from a Quilting exhibit I saw about 20 years ago. I wrote it down and it has stuck with me ever since.

Maximus is the name of the horse from the Disney movie "Tangled". Emma and I watched it while I was writing. It spurred the question, "What happened to the horses from the tribute parade?" and Brinna's love of that part of the Games was born.

The knife scene – where Marus breathes and centers himself – was planned loosely at the very beginning of writing. It was heavily influenced by Clove's training scenes in the movie. It was also influenced by _Free Four_ and _Divergent_ by Veronica Roth.

Marus's squad number is not mentioned. I toyed with two – "157" and "343". "157" is the code we used at an old company to denote starting over and uninstalling an application and then reinstalling it – and would be like his therapy for Peeta sort of "rebooting" Peeta. "343" is a reference to the 343 firefighters who were killed on 9-11-01 in the World Trade Center attacks. I elected to leave it ambiguous.

The inspiration for the loom scene – where Paylor talks about becoming a rebel – came from the movie Wanted. The giant loom in that movie was exactly what I pictured when I was trying to describe the loom.

**Typos:**

"He put his hams on her face…" The library scene would not have been the same with this line left in. Doc caught it, but we still can't stop laughing at it. Sometimes he texts this to me to tell me he loves me.

"…Foul and asparagus…" Doc could not stop talking about the food poisoning they were going to have when he came across this gem. I wish I had taken the food reference out altogether and may if I ever come back and re-edit.

"He stepped into the hallway and exposed himself." This was the climactic knife throwing scene and Doc almost had coffee come out his nose when he read that. It was not the action scene that I was going for, so we changed the wording.

"She upholstered her gun." Lilyah could not shoot Marus with an "upholstered" gun. Microsoft Word really wanted me to use upholstered instead of un-holstered. It had me in stiches at work the next day.


End file.
